Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
by yamwam
Summary: Harry's fifth year. Now totally complete. This was written a long time before the real OotP came out, so it's wildly different. Please review. Incidentally sometimes where you see a period . it's meant to be an ellipsis .... Formatting problems, sorry.
1. Meeting in the Forbidden Forest

It was approaching midnight. Framed by black clouds, the full moon cast its pale silver light upon the high stone walls of a giant castle. Ordinarily, the castle housed the students of Hogwarts, the world's most renowned school of magic. But as the month was July, the students and staff had all gone home for the summer. Presently, no light appeared in the castle's numerous windows; even the groundskeeper's hut was darkened.  
  
To one side of the castle stretched a vast expanse of woodland. The tall trees' shadows were cast across the mossy ground. The trees quivered with the occasional gust of wind, but the owls and animals who lived in the forest were unusually silent. Here in the woods, as at the castle, there seemed to be no sign of life - except for one tall cloaked man, slipping stealthily through the shadows. Purposely deviating far from the forest path, he wove between the trees with a confident knowledge of his course. Barely making a sound save his own laboured breathing, the man dodged branches and stepped over fallen branches.  
  
Suddenly he saw a low branch too late and when he ducked, his hood caught on the branch and fell away, revealing a pale, haggard face and a head of graying sandy hair. There were bags under the eyes and the brow was furrowed with worry. The lined face clearly exposed the fact that the man was currently in very poor health. Remus Lupin hastily pulled up his hood, glancing around furtively. He saw no one, but he thought he perceived movement ahead. He moved forward cautiously, one silent step at a time, and stopped short when he saw what was there.  
  
Moonlight illuminated the small clearing into which Lupin stared. It lay deep in the heart of the dark woods. Here a circular area exposed bare ground, devoid of even grass. Hundreds of hissing snakes of all types and lengths slithered in circles round the edge of the clearing.  
  
In the centre, surrounded by the circling snakes, stood two robed and hooded figures. One was short and squat, and was constantly fidgeting. The other was tall and imposing, and stayed perfectly still while the shorter figure paced nervously back and forth in front of him. Lupin slipped unobtrusively behind the thick trunk of an oak tree and listened to the conversation. He flinched, recognizing the voice of the first speaker.  
  
"Eleven-fifty-eight and twenty-seven seconds," the short creature said as he consulted a pocket watch. "Twenty-eight, twenty-nine-"  
  
"Wormtail," said the tall figure quietly, and his attendant halted in his tracks. "Why must you march back and forth so, looking at that ridiculous pocket watch? Do you imitate the White Rabbit?"  
  
The creature called Wormtail put away the watch and came to stand by the tall cloaked figure. "I'm sorry, master."  
  
"They will be here soon, Wormtail."  
  
"Yes, Lord Voldemort."  
  
"You seem worried." The voice of the Dark Lord held a note of mocking amusement.  
  
"N-no, of course not, my lord. I- I worry that your Lordship is uncomfortable waiting here."  
  
"Rubbish. I flourish this atmosphere, Wormtail, surrounded by loyal followers in the impenetrable obscurity of the night. And to be so close to my ancient alma mater-" Voldemort gestured to the immense castle, whose turrets, despite their soaring altitude, only managed to show their uppermost windows above the tall trees enclosing the clearing. "Wormtail, I feel at home."  
  
Lupin shivered, wondering if the Dark Lord planned to make the forest his permanent dwelling.  
  
"Eleven-fifty-nine," said Wormtail, sneaking a peek at his watch.  
  
"What are you fretting about? What time did I tell them, Wormtail?"  
  
"The stroke of midnight, master."  
  
"And not a lapse of one second, early or late, will be tolerated. They will be here on time. But that is not for another- how many seconds, Wormtail?"  
  
"Twenty seconds."  
  
"Magnificent." From the sleeves of the black cloak emerged two long, white, spidery hands, which rubbed together slowly, expressing their owner's glee. "A few more seconds, and then-a reunion! The first meeting of the Death Eaters since I was returned to flesh." The white fingers curled around each other absently as memories of that momentous night passed through Voldemort's mind. Wormtail observed this exhibition of arachnoid dexterity with much revulsion.  
  
The ticking of his pocket watch brought him back. "Seven seconds left, master."  
  
"Excellent."  
  
Tick, tick, tick, went the watch.  
  
A cold wind suddenly picked up, and blew a shroud of clouds in front of the moon, leaving the forest in utter darkness. Wormtail shivered as gales of wind stung his face. Lord Voldemort stood still, smiling complacently.  
  
Drawing his wand, Lupin chanced a peek around the trunk of the oak tree but could see nothing in the pitch-black. The clearing filled with the swish of cloth. When the cloud passed away from the fat white moon, Voldemort and his servant had mysteriously been joined inside the ring of slithering snakes by two dozen more cloaked people. They pulled away their hoods to show their faces to their master, and one by one approached him, knelt to kiss the hem of his robes, and drew back reverently into a circle around him. As if out of the habit of allowing space for more people, large gaps were left in the circle.  
  
Lupin peeked out at the gathering and felt a sudden pang when the moonlight fell on his skin. He closed his eyes against the beguiling light of the full moon and ducked back into the tree trunk's shadow. He had taken his Wolfsbane potion earlier that afternoon, but he was beginning to realize that its magic was wearing off. It should last up to seven hours, if the potion was strong and had a lot of Turks' nose hairs in it. Lupin's head began to ache and his skin felt like it was on fire. He tried to concentrate on what was happening in the clearing behind him.  
  
"My loyal Death Eaters." Lord Voldemort's voice was quiet but commanded the complete attention of every person present. "It has been almost two weeks since we last saw each other, has it not?" Lord Voldemort swept the Death Eaters with his red eyes. "I wish there were more of you here with me. But." He smiled slyly. "I do note the appearance of one more man than we had at the ceremony of my rebirth. Let us welcome our old colleague."  
  
The Death Eaters looked round at each other, trying to see who had rejoined their ranks.  
  
"Wait," breathed one Death Eater. She pointed across the semi-circle. "You!"  
  
"Well, well, well," someone else said softly. "Severus Snape. We hardly expected you to show up."  
  
"What do you want here?" snarled Wormtail. "You abandoned us long ago, turncoat!"  
  
"Deserter!" hissed someone else. "Traitor!"  
  
The Death Eaters moved towards Snape, whispering angrily, "Traitor, traitor!"  
  
"Shall we kill him like you said, my Lord?" Wormtail said to Voldemort.  
  
"Please, let me have the honour, Lord Voldemort," snarled a Death Eater, drawing his wand. Lupin recognized the snobbish tones of Lucius Malfoy.  
  
"We can torture him first," a witch suggested viciously, drawing her wand as well.  
  
"Excellent thinking, Emily," said Malfoy, advancing in long, strong strides. "What shall we use? Cruciatus, perhaps?"  
  
"No," said Snape, backing away. "Stop! I beg you, Lord Voldemort, stop them-"  
  
Malfoy was raising his wand.  
  
"Put your wands away," Voldemort commanded quietly.  
  
The Death Eaters all turned away from Snape to look at their master.  
  
"My Lord," Lucius Malfoy said in amazement, "do you not remember what Snape has done? He turned spy against you! He joined the other side! He's in league with Dumbledore! He's a slimy, treacherous, lying-"  
  
"Shut up, Lucius," Voldemort said lazily, and Malfoy fell silent, stunned. "Allow me to explain how Snape escaped the fate of becoming a rotting corpse at my feet."  
  
The Death Eaters reluctantly reformed the circle and waited for their master to speak again.  
  
"After my rebirth," Voldemort said, "Severus came to find me. He told me everything that had happened at Hogwarts, everything that Dumbledore was planning."  
  
"What if he's lying?" a Death Eater broke in.  
  
"He's not," Voldemort said. "I was able to confirm everything he said."  
  
"That's all?" Lucius Malfoy said incredulously. "That's why we're not killing him?"  
  
"Lucius. It is because I have realized the value of keeping Severus alive. He can help me. Why don't you tell them, Severus, what you told me."  
  
Snape looked into the other Death Eaters' hostile faces and took a deep breath. "I explained to Lord Voldemort that I can help him ascend back into power. Even in the decade since the Dark Lord's temporary disappearance, I alone was able to secure a position of legitimate integrity. None of you, not one, provided for the return of Lord Voldemort, which I knew was imminent. As you all know, I am the Potions master at Hogwarts school. I have a mostly clean record and a respectable social standing. What's more, I work alongside Albus Dumbledore and many of his underlings."  
  
"You yourself are one of his underlings," sneered Malfoy.  
  
"That's what everyone thinks," Snape responded swiftly. "Dumbledore trusts me wholeheartedly. But all this time I have been waiting for Lord Voldemort to rise again."  
  
"Then why did you not show up last meeting?" challenged Wormtail.  
  
Snape's reply was smooth and ready. Lupin could almost mouth the words along with him, because he had spent hours the day before, rehearsing acceptable responses with Snape. "What, vanish from right under the noses of Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the Minister of Magic? I couldn't endanger my position like that, after all my careful and painstaking planning precautions."  
  
Lupin admired the easy acting skills possessed by Snape that allowed him to credibly mask his internal fears; but most of the Death Eaters still seemed on their guard.  
  
"Are you really going to take his word for this, master?" a Death Eater asked Lord Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort laughed softly. "You may think I'm foolish to believe Severus, but he was right about himself being in the perfect position to be of assistance to my scheme. And Severus knows what will happen to him if he is discovered to be spying for Dumbledore, doesn't he?"  
  
Snape cringed. "I will be subjected to Cruciatus until I have learned respect for your Lordship."  
  
"And then?" prompted Voldemort.  
  
"And then slow and painful death," Snape said in a low voice. "I know, I know, and I won't disappoint you, master. I will serve you faithfully."  
  
"Master," began Malfoy, "I too had planned for your return. The secret room below my house-"  
  
"Lucius, the construction of that room took place in the Medieval Ages," Voldemort interrupted. "I hardly consider that an example of foresight on your part. However, I may have plans for that little chamber later." He gave a short laugh.  
  
"What is our precious Severus going to do to prove his usefulness?" spat Malfoy, disappointed that he was being paid so little attention.  
  
Voldemort laughed gleefully. "He's going to help me get Albus Dumbledore!"  
  
"It's possible if we plan it right," Snape said quickly into the amazed silence. "I'm in the perfect place. I know everything about Dumbledore. I know exactly what his weaknesses are."  
  
"It's actually a very good situation," admitted a Death Eater grudgingly.  
  
"Thank you, Nott, for having some faith in me," Snape said, glowering at the others.  
  
"Now, Severus, you can't expect to be accepted so readily back into our little circle," Voldemort chided him. "You have, after all, returned suddenly from a decade-long absence, during which your virtue and honour alone were vouched for. Your colleagues, however, have all suffered terrible discrimination at the hands of Muggle-lovers like Albus Dumbledore!" The long spidery hand curled into a fist. "I think it is time that the noble name of Lord Voldemort was vindicated! We seek justice, and it is not to be found while a crackpot old coot like Albus Dumbledore retains power!"  
  
The Death Eaters nodded reverently.  
  
"And though it may seem that I have been idle since last we met, let me assure, the opposite is true. I have busily been plotting my re-emergence into the world. Many brilliant ideas for this have passed through my mind.  
  
"I have considered a grand-scale robbery of Gringotts' Bank."  
  
This proposal was met with admiring murmurs from the Death Eaters.  
  
"But of course," Voldemort went on, "this is far too rash and admittedly very risky, even for a great wizard like myself. And what would it accomplish? It could only send the vague message that I need money, which is untrue and irrelevant. I need to send a powerful message, one that heralds my resurrection in the grandest of styles.  
  
"I then thought about annihilating a large region of people."  
  
This, too, impressed the Death Eaters.  
  
By now Lupin was suffering almost unbearably. He wanted to vomit out his internal organs. His head pounded and his heart was beating at triple speed. Hot little pinpricks were trying to force their way through his skin. Though he had never been placed under the Cruciatus curse himself, Lupin reflected that this was probably a similar experience. He desperately tried to ignore his pain.  
  
"But this presented several planning problems," Voldemort went on. "For instance, which country to choose? Which town to strike? Should I do just the one, or several all at once- a feat which I am indeed capable of doing? Would it send a greater message to kill all Muggles, all magic, or a combination of both?  
  
"No, this plot was too flawed, and sounded somewhat Bolshevist. But I felt I was on the right track. Killing was the answer, but it left the question- who to kill?  
  
"I debated attacking a wizardry school like the one you see over the top of the trees there. There are several of its ilk all over the planet- three in Europe alone. These three are direct rivals. If I hit one of these schools, perhaps one or both other schools would be accused of the crime, correct? But then I myself would get no credit. However, I do still like this idea. I may launch this attack in the future, so be prepared." He laughed quietly.  
  
"But now I understood that to send the greatest message to the magical world, to the Ministry of Magic, and to that foolish old Dumbledore, I would have to kill a symbol. A symbol of their security, their safety from dangerous evil wizards." He chuckled to himself. "Like myself.  
  
"So, Death Eaters, we are going to kill Harry Potter."  
  
There was a silence. Lupin dared to peer around the tree trunk, but wished he hadn't when the light of the moon fell on him again and intensified the pain.  
  
"But your Lordship," began Lucius Malfoy. "My son attends school with the Potter boy, and he says that since Diggory was killed-"  
  
"Who?" interrupted Voldemort, sounding bored.  
  
"The boy who was with Potter when he picked up the Portkey," supplied Wormtail. "The, er, spare."  
  
"Ah yes, I remember now. His death made a ruckus at Hogwarts, did it?"  
  
"Yes, your Lordship. Diggory was considered a minor hero of sorts at the school."  
  
Voldemort pondered this for a moment. "Elaborate, Malfoy."  
  
"What I meant was, Potter was widely blamed for Diggory's death. Many students believed that Potter, possibly in league with you, Lord Voldemort, arranged to have Diggory eliminated- they were in direct competition in the Triwizard Cup, as you all know.  
  
"This awkward situation left Potter generally unpopular among his fellow students, who may have spread their misgivings to their families and around the magical community, despite Albus Dumbledore's efforts to point out that you were the most likely suspect for Diggory's murder."  
  
Voldemort listened attentively to this narrative. When Lucius Malfoy had finished he spoke calmly. "Malfoy, I thank you for your concern about my nescience. But I can assure you, even one thousand students spreading rumours about Potter cannot hurt his reputation. He thwarted me as an infant, and three times again as a mere adolescent. The magical community regards him as a kind of invincible champion. Ha! As if that child ever really had a chance against me. If not for his mother's fluke-" He sucked in his breath angrily. "If not for that, he and Dumbledore would both be long dead and none of this nonsense would have bothered me!"  
  
The Death Eaters all nodded and murmured to each other.  
  
"When will we attack?" asked Snape.  
  
"This school year," said Voldemort. "I will go into hiding nearby and when the opportunity presents itself, I will strike him myself."  
  
"Master," began a witch hesitantly, "where exactly do you plan to stay? You can't be here in the forest. My daughter, a student at Hogwarts, tells me that the Forbidden Forest is carefully watched by Albus Dumbledore. They will find you quickly."  
  
"Great wizard though you are," interposed another Death Eater, "you can't escape Dumbledore if you're living right under his long crooked nose."  
  
Though his servants had revealed their faces for him, Lord Voldemort's face had remained hidden until now. He slowly drew back his hood with his long white hand to expose the ghastly pale face. The red slitted eyes sparkled with malice and the mouth curved into an evil grin.  
  
"That is where you are mistaken. I have already discovered the perfect place to live, and it is, as you say, right under Dumbledore's crooked nose. I will move there tomorrow."  
  
"Will you tell us where it is?"  
  
"I'm afraid not, for you see, I fear betrayal and disloyalty."  
  
This statement was met with protests. Lord Voldemort waved his hand.  
  
"Treachery has occurred in the past."  
  
There was a moment of silence as the Death Eaters debated whether to pursue the subject or leave it alone.  
  
"You could at least tell me, master," spoke up Snape. "I'm going to be in the school. I'd like to know where you are so that I can protect your secret from the other side."  
  
Voldemort gave him a condescending look. "Severus, though we have established that the worthiness of your position warrants the continuation of your existence, I must borrow the common phrase and say, don't push your luck. It is from you that I fear betrayal the most."  
  
The other Death Eaters sniggered quietly. Severus Snape coloured slightly but pressed on. "But master, if you are discovered I will feel guilt at not having been able to guard you."  
  
"Snape, surely you have more confidence in me than that! I will not be discovered. And I am not going to say where my hiding place is."  
  
Lord Voldemort paced slowly round the inside of the circle. He paused at a small gap directly beside Snape.  
  
"Who should stand here?" he asked aloud. "I know, but I have forgotten."  
  
"Igor Karkaroff." Death Eaters made scornful noises.  
  
"Ah yes, Karkaroff. Once he was one of my most faithful and reliable followers. But when I fell on that night fourteen years ago, where did he go? Was he seeking me out, to help me? No, he marched straight into the Ministry and tried to cut himself a deal. And still he was thrown in Azkaban, with the very witches and wizards he had denounced!" As Voldemort spoke he took another two steps, passing Snape, who let out an imperceptible breath of relief, and reached a gap wide enough for three people. "Now here are three truly faithful Death Eaters. The most faithful of all, I should think. They went willingly to Azkaban rather than betray me, their master. Still do I remember their names and their glorious deeds in my honour. Halvard Travers, Derrick and Maldora Lestrange! How we will celebrate their return!"  
  
"Are they returning?" a big, burly Death Eater asked.  
  
"Truly, truly they are, Crabbe! They will be welcomed back into our circle with open arms and will reap the most magnificent rewards for their suffering in my name."  
  
"When will they come back, your Lordship?" the big Death Eater next to Crabbe said eagerly. "Is it soon?"  
  
Voldemort laughed gently. "I think we shall see them before long, Goyle. And when all my faithful servants return to me-" Voldemort pounded one white fist in the palm of the other. "The world will quake in fear at the unfathomable terrors that we will spread!"  
  
Lupin could hardly concentrate on anything that was being said. As Voldemort sermonized, he was slowly losing control of himself. He could feel the coarse brown fur growing on his face and hands. His ears were getting pointy. He was also troubled by the hissing snakes that circled, round and round, slowing every time they neared the oak tree behind which he hid. They could sense him now, he knew. He was fortunate that he was positioned downwind of the snakes, but they could feel him transforming.  
  
Lupin decided that he had better leave, and began to move in the direction he had come- but he was not watching where his steps landed. A dry twig crunched under his foot. The snapping sound was loud in the tranquil forest. Lupin's heart leaped into his mouth.  
  
The Death Eaters' heads swiveled simultaneously in the oak tree's direction. Lupin continued to back away slowly, gripped with fear and the pain of his transformation, which was almost complete.  
  
"A centaur?" Wormtail suggested nervously.  
  
"Impossible," Voldemort said softly. "I put a Sleeping Spell on the entire forest."  
  
The Death Eaters drew their wands quickly. No one noticed that Severus Snape had turned pale.  
  
A fifteen-foot cobra hissed something at Voldemort.  
  
"A wolf!" repeated Voldemort in English.  
  
Lupin turned and ran.  
  
"After it!" raged Voldemort, and the snakes and Death Eaters began to chase Lupin.  
  
Lupin realized that he ran faster and fought better as a werewolf than as a human, and stopped avoiding the patches of moonlight that shone through the trees. His finger- and toenails became sharp claws that found better traction on the mossy forest ground. The fur grew denser on his face and hands, saving him from scrapes on outstretched branches that hit him as he ran.  
  
It seemed like Lupin was going to get away- but suddenly one of the Death Eaters' curses hit its mark. A jet of red light struck him in the shoulder. Lupin uttered a high-pitched howl at the moon as he fell forward. His pursuers shouted triumphantly and rushed forward.  
  
Then a sparse dark cloud appeared over the treetops. Lupin's howl had alerted the cavalry; but this Auror rescue squad rode not on horses, but on broomsticks. Six riders, each wearing a golden ring on their right-hand little fingers, sped to Lupin's succour. Four wizards stayed over the trees, firing spells down through the trees at the Death Eaters, while two wizards dropped to the ground, swooped in on Lupin, and carried him off into the sky.  
  
The Death Eaters, grounded, shot volleys of deadly curses at the receding backs of the broomstick-riding Aurors, but all their hexes were deflected, and the Aurors escaped.  
  
When they were far away from Voldemort and Hogwarts, one Auror shouted to the others, "Right, let's Apparate! To Little Whinging!" and the seven Aurors vanished.  
  
The Death Eaters stood on the ground, stricken, staring after the Aurors. A low hissing sound from Voldemort brought them back.  
  
"Master," Goyle grunted, "what should we do? Should we follow them?"  
  
Voldemort shook his head. "It could be a trap. No, it's all right. They haven't heard anything too significant- but-" He pointed his wand at Severus Snape and ropes sprang from the end, binding Snape tightly.  
  
"Master?" gasped Snape, wild-eyed. The Death Eaters watched silently.  
  
Voldemort glared at Snape. "One must wonder- how did they know about our little meeting? Were they" -he roughly pulled Snape closer- "alerted beforehand?"  
  
"Please," Snape said frantically, "I don't know anything about this-"  
  
"Liar!" shouted Malfoy. "Kill him!"  
  
"Liar! He lies, the treacherous weasel!" hissed the Death Eaters.  
  
"Lucius," Voldemort said, and Malfoy snapped to attention. "I think I will have some use for your secret chamber at this point in time." He addressed to the other Death Eaters. "The most important thing is to vacate this forest. Go home. Speak naught of this meeting to anyone."  
  
The Death Eaters ran off, scattering in the dark forest.  
  
Then Voldemort turned to the snakes and began making hissing, spitting sounds, and the serpents immediately slithered away into the trees.  
  
Lucius Malfoy Transfigured Snape into a clothespin. Then he turned back to Lord Voldemort, looking apprehensive.  
  
"Master, I must ask you-do you truly feel certain that you can trust this lying scoundrel Snape?"  
  
Voldemort eyed the clothespin in Malfoy's hand. "Can he not hear us?"  
  
Malfoy bristled. "My Lord, perhaps you are not aware that my skills in human Transfiguration spells are exceptional. I can assure you, this clothespin has no ears."  
  
Voldemort laughed. "Then Lucius, I can assure you, I do not intend to trust Severus Snape. I intend to use him."  
  
There was not a single trace of the meeting when the Ministry of Magic's Hit Wizards, alerted anonymously, arrived on the scene ten minutes later. 


	2. Midnight Visitors

Harry Potter sat by his open window, staring at the full moon outside. He wore a thoughtful look, as well as a pair of pyjamas which would have fit a hippopotamus and which sagged bleakly on his long, thin frame. His rumpled hair did not cover the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Voices and shadowy figures ran through his mind.  
  
"Not Harry, please no!" A beautiful young woman with frightened green eyes.  
  
"Lily, go! Get out of here, I can handle it!" A tall, untidily groomed man, frantic.  
  
"Dunno if there was enough human left in him to die." A suspicious giant.  
  
"Oh, Harry, but what if You-Know-Who's going to come back and get you?" Freckles on a redheaded boy, bushy hair on a brunette girl, both wearing expressions of anxiety.  
  
"The Dark Lord will rise again." An eerie witch, sitting by a crystal ball.  
  
"You'll be next, Mudbloods!" A malicious, pale-faced boy.  
  
"Kill the spare." A high, cold voice from an unseen evil presence.  
  
Harry sat in silent reflection for some time. The sounds and shapes gradually faded away. Staring out over the empty street, he observed, looking between some houses, that a light was still on in one of the windows across the way, but thought nothing of it. The house's resident probably had insomnia or something. Harry spied a fluffy snowy owl flying towards him. It was his pet, Hedwig, who presently swooped through the window and perched atop her wire cage, scrutinizing him.  
  
"Hullo, Hedwig," said Harry quietly, so as not to wake the other, less ornithologically-given tenants of number four Privet Drive. "Out so late? It's past midnight. Catch a lot of mice?"  
  
Hedwig hooted softly, and Harry suddenly felt very tired. He left his place by the window and went towards his bed, but as he passed the open door of his wardrobe the mirror hung inside attracted his attention. The mirror was a normal Muggle-made one, not enchanted to show him his deepest desires or bewitched to talk back to him, but this reflection shocked him more than any magic mirror's could.  
  
Looking back at him was a tall, wiry boy with jet-black hair. His hair was untidy and small locks of it fell across his forehead, but did not hide the lightning bolt-shaped scar that descended from his hairline above his right eyebrow. The boy had a medium complexion, but looked paler in the moonlight. His face was healthy, but bordering on gaunt, and whether this was due to lack of sleep, or a nutritional deficiency, or fear of the future, no one knew. But the most startling thing was the boy's eyes. Even in this darkness an unearthly light, intrinsic rather than reflected, seemed to gleam in his gaze. Twin pools of green behind thick round-rimmed glasses belied their innocent wideness, and exposed the core of a child who had seen and heard and felt more than any other person of his fourteen years should have done. Harry blinked in surprise at the mirror boy, whose eyes still shone oddly, but offered no more insights into his soul. Unnerved, Harry closed the wardrobe door and crawled into bed. He drifted off quickly.  
  
On Magnolia Crescent, two streets away, the lights were still blazing. All of a sudden, a tall man with black hair wearing dark robes appeared out of nowhere. Moments later, six more robed figures popped out in the street beside him, holding between them a sagging, unconscious werewolf. All except the werewolf held broomsticks. The first man looked at the house with its lights on.  
  
"Right here," he said to the others. "Come on, then."  
  
The group went to the front door and the black-haired man rapped three times on the door. The sound echoed through the empty street, but no one else was awake. After a few seconds the door opened.  
  
"Black?" came a voice from inside. "Come in, all of you, before someone sees you."  
  
"We brought Lupin to you," said the first robed man, Black. "We shouldn't have let him go by himself, but he said he could control it. Can you make some more of his potion?"  
  
"I've already got it here," the voice replied. "Bring him in. Then you must go."  
  
"We might have tried to grab them if there hadn't been so few of us," one of the Aurors said while they lugged the werewolf inside. "But we had no idea they would all be there. We were outnumbered at least five to one. It would have been an impossible fight."  
  
"Lupin heard quite a bit, I think," said someone else. "You'll have to ask him about it."  
  
Sirius Black stayed on the porch and looked between the houses at number four Privet Drive. He sighed, and another man came out to stand beside him.  
  
"Miss him, don't you, Sirius?" said the man to Black.  
  
"I miss my poor godson more than anyone could understand, Fletcher."  
  
"I miss his parents," said another Auror suddenly.  
  
"It isn't the same without Lily and James," agreed a fourth Auror.  
  
"And with Minerva, Bella and Alastor stuck in contact assignments like this, instead of field work with us."  
  
"Minerva told me that Mad-Eye was marvellous on a broom, before he lost his leg."  
  
"I wish Frank Longbottom was here, instead of at St. Mungo's."  
  
"It's no use missing and wishing," Fletcher spoke up. "We have to remember who landed Longbottom in St. Mungo's in the first place, and who it was who took the Potters away from us."  
  
Sirius Black straightened up. "Fletch is right. Come on, we've got to get going. Dumbledore's waiting!" And the six wizards disappeared in thin air, just as suddenly as they had appeared.  
  
The front door was shut again, but the lights inside stayed on for several more hours. 


	3. Hello Mrs Figg

Harry woke the next morning to the sound of pots and pans clattering downstairs. He got dressed and went to the chart on his wall to cross off a day until his return to his wizardry school, Hogwarts, but stopped and groaned in dismay as he realized what day it was.  
  
"The vacation," he sighed to himself. Usually for Harry's cousin Dudley's birthday, which happened during the school year, Uncle Vernon's sister Marge gave Dudley a new television set, racing bike, stereo system, or something equally expensive. But this year, had given Dudley a huge gift: she was taking him and his parents to Barbados for a month, and they were leaving today. However, she only invited the three Dursleys, because she hated Harry with a passion. The feeling was mutual; Harry had in fact blown her up two years before, and even though she had been restored to her former heavy state and had no memory of the incident (thanks to Memory Modification by wizard officials), she still despised him.  
  
None of the Dursleys particularly liked Harry. They were leaving him to spend the month with mad old Mrs. Figg, looking over album after album of photos of her many cats. In terms of awfulness Mrs. Figg and the Dursleys were about equal. But at least she was only boring and barmy, not completely snide like the Dursleys, and maybe if he could find some way to dupe Mrs. Figg into letting him get away, he could go live for a while at the Burrow, where his friends the Weasleys lived. Harry was dying to spend time with other magic people.  
  
Harry trudged downstairs, noted the expensive leather suitcases piled by the door, and went into the kitchen.  
  
"Good morning," he said to his Uncle Vernon as he slid into his seat.  
  
Vernon Dursley grunted and went on reading his newspaper.  
  
"Harry!" barked Petunia Dursley from where she stood by the stove. "Cook this bacon, and mind you don't burn it. We've got a big journey ahead of us."  
  
"I'm rather concerned as to the quality of the food on the airplane," Uncle Vernon said. "From what I remember from my last flight it was positively ghastly- even in first class! Can you imagine, they were skimping on the mushrooms in my boeuf bourgignon?"  
  
"Tsk tsk," murmured Aunt Petunia, buttering a slice of toast for Dudley.  
  
Dudley grinned unkindly at Harry. "Have you ever flown on a plane before, Harry?"  
  
Harry looked at him straight in his piggish little eyes and replied, "Not on a plane, no. Motorcycles yes, brooms yes-"  
  
"Stop right there!" shouted Uncle Vernon, dropping his crumpet in his cup of coffee. "Oh blast, look what you've made me do now, boy! I have asked you repeatedly not to speak of upsetting things like that!"  
  
"Like what?" Harry asked innocently. "Like magic things, you mean?"  
  
Aunt Petunia turned pale and sucked in her breath sharply. "Do not say that word!" she hissed. "Or we'll have to-"  
  
"Have to do what?" Harry said challengingly. "What'll you do to me? Lock me up in that cupboard again? Confiscate my things, take away my owl? You can't do that stuff anymore, you know." The three Dursleys glowered at him. Harry shrugged and turned back to the stove. "It's just the truth."  
  
"Don't you challenge us," Uncle Vernon growled. "Ungrateful boy! After all we've done for you!"  
  
"We ought to throw you out on your backside," Dudley said, standing up and starting to reach for Harry.  
  
"Oh, Diddums! Do you need something more to eat?" Aunt Petunia said suddenly, looking very frantic. They all stared at her in surprise. She faltered, "Well- no use rowing on a beautiful day like today, right before we leave! Diddums darling, don't you want some bacon?"  
  
Still looking confused, Dudley lowered the hand that had been reaching for Harry and said, "Yeah, I guess so."  
  
"Well come on then, bring the bacon for Dudley," Aunt Petunia said sharply to Harry. He picked up the pan and took it to the table, wondering what had caused her to stop Dudley's ejecting him from the house.  
  
"What time is your flight?" he asked as he dumped some bacon strips on Dudley's plate.  
  
"We leave at noon," said Aunt Petunia.  
  
"Meaning you'll be at Mrs. Figg's by eleven," interjected Uncle Vernon. "Marge is getting here at eleven-thirty and I don't want her to see you."  
  
Harry knew that Uncle Vernon was afraid that he, Harry, might do magic again, but as Harry had no intention of being expelled from his wizarding school, his only sanctuary, it was a safe bet that no underage magic would occur this time.  
  
At nine Harry packed his trunk with clothes for a month and his toothbrush. He also brought some magic books, to keep him from getting too bored at Mrs. Figg's. He added his wand and some leftover candy, plus a bit of parchment and a few quills so that he could write to his friends and to his godfather Sirius Black. And though he knew he shouldn't, but because he couldn't bear to leave it behind, Harry also put in his Firebolt, which Uncle Vernon would certainly have confiscated if he'd known about it. Then he lugged the trunk and Hedwig's cage down the stairs and into the front hall.  
  
"It's nearly eleven o'clock," said Uncle Vernon brusquely as Harry yanked the trunk off the last step. "You get a move on, boy, Marge's taxi might be early."  
  
"Could you help me getting my trunk across to Mrs. Figg's?" Harry asked. "It's a bit heavy."  
  
"You ought to stock up great muscles like my Diddy-poo," snapped Aunt Petunia as she passed by. Dudley leered smugly at Harry behind her back. Harry said nothing, though he knew that Dudley's generous proportions had nothing to do with muscle.  
  
"All right," said Uncle Vernon grudgingly. "Hurry up then."  
  
They each picked up one end of the trunk, with the owl cage on top and lugged it down to Mrs. Figg's house on Magnolia Crescent. Then Vernon Dursley straightened up and grinned unpleasantly at Harry. "Hope you have fun with Mrs. Figg," he said nastily. "She's got a new cat. She'll have a lot of photos of him, I'll bet."  
  
Then he turned on his heel and strutted back to number four Privet Drive.  
  
Harry watched him till he rounded the corner. Then he heard the front door open behind him. He turned around wearily. "Hello, Mrs. Figg," he said resignedly.  
  
"Good morning, Potter," said Mrs. Figg, stepping out into the sunlight pouring across her front porch. "Why don't you bring your trunk inside." Her eyes fell on the birdcage, with a sleeping Hedwig inside, and she raised her eyebrows quizzically.  
  
"She's my pet owl," said Harry quickly. "She's really well trained, she won't mess up your rug or anything, I think."  
  
Mrs. Figg nodded curtly. "I hope not. And I hope for her sake that she's too big to be eaten by a cat. Well, come in then. I have a lovely new album of kitty pictures to show you."  
  
Harry hauled the trunk inside and was met by the familiar cabbage stench of the house. Sighing, he heaved the trunk and the cage up the stairs to the guest room, and examined the surroundings which would be his for the next agonizing month. 


	4. The Mysterious Cellar

Mrs. Figg was a strict woman. She had few rules, but Harry didn't want to know what would happen if he broke any of them. She outlined the household laws for him the same day he arrived. They involved not taunting her five cats, not touching the valuable antiques displayed in the cabbage-smelling living room-and one new rule.  
  
"You may not go in the cellar," said Mrs. Figg, pointing to a door leading out of the kitchen. "You may visit the rest of the house-save the master bedroom of course-but stay out of the cellar."  
  
"Why?" asked Harry curiously, before he could check himself.  
  
Mrs. Figg suddenly became very stiff and would not say much more.  
  
Harry had only been in Mrs. Figg's cellar once before, to get her a jar of her strawberry preserves. It was dark and quiet down there, and contained only a few cabinets, a water heater, and a washing machine. Harry had not been very interested, but now, he found himself drawn to the door every time he entered the kitchen without Mrs. Figg.  
  
Two years ago, when he'd been allowed to watch Dudley's television for ten minutes (and this was a rare privilege), Harry had seen a programme about a serial killer who had been murdering derelicts and stashing their bodies in his basement. He wondered if Mrs. Figg could also be a serial killer, but decided that she was too old and frail to murder people. She didn't appear to be capable of doing much at all, in Harry's opinion.  
  
The day after he arrived, when he was alone making tea in the kitchen, Harry quickly went to the door and, after a furtive glance around, pulled on the knob. Locked, he thought in disappointment. He should have expected this, he told himself. If Mrs. Figg didn't want him in her cellar, she would obviously lock the only door in. As he carried her back a plate of cookies, Harry thought of the windows of the cellar. If she was hiding something, he might have a peek through the window. Harry went outside into the backyard and found the small cellar windows. But when he peeked through, he saw nothing but the hydro fixtures and the same cupboards of preserves and jellies as before. There was no pile of plundered gold bullion, no pet endangered mountain lion, no puddles of blood from murder victims, not a single thing out of the ordinary. But then why would Mrs. Figg not let me down there? wondered Harry. The whistle of the teakettle called him back to the kitchen.  
  
At least the mystery kept him from going completely mad. Harry had never spent such a long period of time with Mrs. Figg before, and while she was tolerable under daytime circumstances, she did snore quite loudly at night.  
  
One pleasant thing was Tibbles II, named for Tibbles I, who had gotten hit by a car a few years before. Tibbles II was the newest cat, and by far the most interesting looking. He had light grey fur, with dark grey speckles. His ears were a bit bigger than the rest of the cats', and his tail looked a bit like a lion's. When Harry asked Mrs. Figg where she had gotten him, she had smiled smugly. "I bought him at a market in Bangladesh. He's a rare animal," she had said, and then had sat him down to look at both the old Tibbles' and the new Tibbles' picture albums.  
  
Tibbles seemed to take to Harry immediately. On his first day, the cat stayed close by him, purring happily, and Harry felt quite calm around him. At least one thing in this house likes me, he thought.  
  
The other five cats were called Tigris, Loyola, Snowball, and Leon, and occasionally the five regulars were joined by a aged stray called Minnie. This cat had odd square markings around her intelligent eyes and Harry thought she looked rather familiar, but dismissed it as an impossible notion of his overactive imagination.  
  
The cats for the most part approved of Harry, though Snowball alone appeared to loathe Harry's presence; but then, Snowball, a black tabby, was of a contemptuous disposition, inclined to despise all humans, even disobeying Mrs. Figg. Mrs. Figg inexplicably devoted two entire albums to this rebellious feline, euphemistically labelling the cat "feisty".  
  
One day, flipping absently through one of these albums, Harry came across a series of ancient photographs featuring Snowball with five people sporting outdated fashions. In various candid pictures, the five people appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely together. There was a distinguished- looking man, a beautiful woman who could only be a young Mrs. Figg, and three striking children. Then on one page all by itself was a photograph of Snowball in the arms of the youngest girl, a fair-haired youth who at approximately age five was already endowed with exquisite looks.  
  
"Is this your family?" Harry asked Mrs. Figg.  
  
The elderly woman admitted it was true. "Myself with my husband and my three children about thirty years ago."  
  
Harry thought that this was a very peculiar piece of news. He had always assumed that having twelve million cats was some kind of emotional replacement for a family. "I never saw your husband before. And I've never seen your children in the neighbourhood."  
  
"I'm a widow, Potter, my husband died shortly after you were born. And my children moved away long ago. This old photograph shows my eldest daughter at age fifteen, she's now over forty-five. Now come on, put that away and come change this burnt-out lightbulb for me. Do you want me to break my hipbone falling off this rickety stepladder?" 


	5. Sounds From Underground and The Explanat

The moon was getting thinner every night. Harry often had trouble sleeping, and liked to sit on the window seat in his room, staring at the waning moon and stroking Tibbles's soft fur, reading his spell books until the cat's rhythmic purring lulled him to sleep. He read a lot of his textbooks at Mrs. Figg's house; given the choice between learning about the antics of Uric the Oddball and gazing at several decades' worth of photos of Mrs. Figg's feline companions, Harry would much rather further his magical education.  
  
Now it was the night of the new moon, about two weeks into his sojourn. While sitting on the window seat writing a note to Hermione Granger, Harry thought he heard sounds coming from downstairs. Curious, Harry decided to investigate. Out of habit, he grabbed his wand from his trunk for protection. Tibbles had fallen asleep on the window seat, so Harry crept downstairs alone.  
  
Mrs. Figg's snoring hardly penetrated the silence of the first floor. Harry moved as silently as he could down the hallway and into the kitchen. The noises were coming from the cellar.  
  
Harry stopped a few feet away and listened intently. There were soft sounds drifting through the door, like someone was moving around. A prowler? He hesitated. Could this be a trap from Voldemort, to lure him into some mad old lady's cellar to murder him? He did doubt it, but tried to steel himself for whatever ills were stirring below his feet.  
  
Now that he had his wand out, he could magically unlock the door. The Ministry might send a warning, but Harry hoped that a peek into Mrs. Figg's secret would be worth the trouble.  
  
He approached the door warily, trying to remember the unlocking spell. Alohomora, he thought to himself, and moved to touch the doorknob with the tip of his wand.  
  
Suddenly, before he could utter the magic word, a shrill, piercing whistling exploded in his ears. Harry clapped his hands over his ears in pain. The whistling noise sounded oddly familiar. He looked round for a teakettle, but the stovetop was empty, so the kettle couldn't be making the sound, and anyways Harry doubted that Mrs. Figg boiled water in the middle of the night. It seemed to be coming from atop the refrigerator, but Harry wasn't tall enough to reach.  
  
Then the kitchen was doused in light.  
  
"POTTER!" shouted Mrs. Figg, her hair in curlers. "What do you think you're doing?"  
  
Harry could find no answer for this. "What's that sound?" he yelled, conscious that soon the entire neighbourhood would be awake. Surely enough, several windows and doors banged open as neighbours came out to protest the disturbance.  
  
Mrs. Figg reached into the pocket of her nightgown. Harry was stunned to see that she was holding-a wand. She pointed it at the fridge, which immediately fell silent. Then she waved her wand at the neighbours and murmured "Obliviate", and the clamouring of the Muggles ceased.  
  
Mrs. Figg then pulled a chair up to the fridge and took something down from the top. Harry gasped when he recognized a deluxe Sneakoscope, a magical gadget. But-only wizards used such objects.  
  
"Mrs. Figg!" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. "A wand- but you're not- I don't- "  
  
Mrs. Figg held up her hand and Harry stopped spluttering. When she spoke her tone was icy. "You were trying to get into the cellar."  
  
Harry stared at the floor. "Yes. I wanted to see what was down there."  
  
Mrs. Figg frowned. "I thought I could keep it from you. I obviously misjudged your curiosity, Potter. I haven't dealt with teenagers in-oh, ages."  
  
Harry looked at her. "Why didn't you tell me you're a witch?"  
  
Mrs. Figg sighed and motioned for him to sit at the table. "My name is Arabella Figg. Yes, I am a witch. I moved into this Muggle neighbourhood soon after you did."  
  
Harry was puzzled. "Why?"  
  
"To watch out for you, of course. It was at the request of Albus Dumbledore. I've been keeping you out of major trouble since you were a little baby."  
  
"How do you know Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "Did you go to Hogwarts?"  
  
"Naturally. I even taught there."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I taught your father James," reminisced Mrs. Figg. "Good lad. He did quite well in my class, as I recall. Your mother was very capable, too. Ninety-seven and a half percent on her sixth-year final exam. And so charming, both of them."  
  
"What did you teach?"  
  
"Potions. And then Defense Against the Dark Arts, for two years right before I retired."  
  
"Did you teach Snape?" asked Harry, fascinated.  
  
"Severus Snape? Yes, he was in your father's year. A bit cool towards people, but Severus got a hundred and sixteen percent on his seventh year final exam. He was my best student. And he turned out all right in the end."  
  
"No he didn't," Harry said before he could stop himself. "He's horrible!"  
  
Mrs. Figg looked at him sternly. "Severus Snape is a good man. And I think you'd best be off to bed, as it's too late to be up."  
  
Rising, Harry remembered the original purpose of his quest. "Mrs. Figg! There was something making noise in your cellar. It sounded like somebody moving! You ought to go look-"  
  
"You were dreaming," said Mrs. Figg shortly. "You heard nothing."  
  
At that very moment the sound of someone in the cellar clearing their throat reached their ears. Mrs. Figg sighed in exasperation. Harry moved towards the door, but she barred his way.  
  
"It's very late. Go to bed, Potter."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Go before I force a Sleeping Draught down your throat," warned Mrs. Figg, then relented. "I'll show you in the morning."  
  
Back in his room, Harry found Tibbles II awake and having a staring contest with Hedwig, who was installed inside her cage. Feeling very tired, Harry slipped between the flower-patterned sheets and fell asleep. 


	6. The Other Guest

Laughter from downstairs roused Harry the next morning. He crossed off a day on his chart, got dressed, and went down. At the foot of the stairs, before the entrance to the kitchen, he found all five cats pacing, as if displeased. Harry leaned over to pet Tibbles' head. "Who's in there?" he whispered, but Tibbles obviously couldn't answer. Harry followed the sounds of mirth into the kitchen and discovered, to his surprise-  
  
"Professor Lupin!"  
  
Remus J. Lupin, a tall man with greying fair hair, sat at the table with Mrs. Figg. Both were wearing wizard robes, though Lupin's were rather shabby. But the man himself looked very healthy, Harry was pleased to observe.  
  
"Harry!" said Lupin pleasantly, setting down his teacup to shake Harry's hand. "How have you been? You know, you probably don't need to call me Professor anymore, seeing as I resigned two years ago."  
  
"Sorry Prof- er, Mr. Lupin," said Harry. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Bella volunteered to put me up for a little while," answered Lupin.  
  
Harry was perplexed. "Why don't you stay at your house?"  
  
"I ran out of potion and I possess neither the skills nor the ingredients to make it myself."  
  
"Oh! Your werewolf potion." He thought of the full moon two weeks before, of the lights on late at Mrs. Figg's house, coincidentally the very night before Harry moved in. Harry deduced that Lupin must have been here then. "Was it you then, making noise downstairs last night?"  
  
Lupin smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."  
  
"No, not me," said Harry, "but the cats don't seem to like you much."  
  
Mrs. Figg began fixing the cats' breakfasts, but stayed in her seat and talked while she pointed her wand all over the kitchen. "My cats aren't too fond of canines. Smart ones, they are, they know what poor Lupin is even if he doesn't look like it now."  
  
Lupin smiled mildly at her while five bowls of cat food whooshed over his head. "Poor Lupin indeed! I'd say poor cats, but fortunately they hadn't found a way into the cellar while I was in werewolf form. As a wolf I'd eat any kind of meat, you realize. But some other occupants of this house have been rather curious!" He winked at Harry. "I was hiding under an Invisibility Cloak, I saw you trying to peek through the other day."  
  
"Sorry," said Harry as he sat down at the table. "I just wanted to find out what was down there."  
  
"I thought you mightn't suspect anything," Mrs. Figg said to Harry, who smiled sheepishly.  
  
"He's a precocious boy, Bella," chuckled Lupin merrily. With a flick of his wand, a plate of blueberry pancakes appeared in front of Harry. "You can't underestimate him."  
  
* * *  
  
The rest of Harry's stay was much more bearable. It was even enjoyable. As the moon waxed gibbous Lupin became less healthier-looking, but Mrs. Figg made a large reserve of Wolfsbane potion available to him. The foul- smelling concoction was kept in a large vat on the stove and its stench replaced the boiled-cabbage odour as the prominent smell in the house.  
  
Lupin spent his time entertaining Harry. He fascinated Harry with stories of his own education at Hogwarts and of James Potter's outrageous antics. On cloudy days when no one was outside Lupin would take Harry and their brooms to a deserted football field close by and teach Harry Seeker moves, all of which had been taught to Lupin himself by Harry's father James. Harry greatly appreciated being able to practise his old Quidditch manoeuvres and enjoyed learning new ones.  
  
Meanwhile, Mrs. Figg began bewitching everything in sight. She seemed relieved that Harry finally knew about her being a witch and about Lupin hiding in her cellar, and felt that she could behave as she wanted now, casting spells like it was going out of style. "I'm making up for all those years you couldn't see my skills," she told Harry.  
  
Harry also seized this opportunity for some much-needed magic practice. At first he worried that he'd get in trouble with the Ministry, but Mrs. Figg said she had contacts in the Department of Law Enforcement and that she would pull some strings so that he could practise with her. So it was that Harry was never bothered by the Ministry, "so long as you're under this roof," Mrs. Figg cautioned. "I've convinced them to amend the zoning bylaws so that my house is temporarily inside a magic-safe sector. But outside the house, you're on your own."  
  
Harry's extra reading during those sleepless nights came in handy now that application of his knowledge was called for. His Charms and Transfiguration skills were much out of form, but with time and practice Harry improved. Transfiguration was something that Harry enjoyed, because he thought it was interesting and challenging. But the subject Harry most wanted to revise was Potions, so that he could show up Professor Snape when he returned to Hogwarts.  
  
As it turned out, Mrs. Figg was a fantastic Potions teacher. She had her own small laboratory and a cabinet full of ingredients, including many items Harry had never even heard of and was sure he didn't want to know how they were retrieved, like hairs from the end of a Chimaera's tail, Lobalug venom, and Mooncalf dung. Mrs. Figg would not let Harry use those valuable materials, but she provided indispensable advice and constructive criticism during his trial experiments with more ordinary ingredients.  
  
Lupin and the cats halfheartedly volunteered themselves as test subjects, and Snowball the thirty-five-year-old cat spent three days frolicking as a six-month-old kitten as a result of a successful Rejuvenation Formula while Harry frantically looked up the counter-potion. In time, after Snowball had been restored to her real age and several other fiascoes had been resolved, Harry learned how to blend an infusion of fluxweed with the precise amount of mermaids' tears to create the ideal Ramphorhynchus Brew, and about how an inexact number of rat tails in a Proteus Potion could create a fire hot enough to boil the blood of anyone standing within ten feet of the cauldron.  
  
Harry worked hard to memorize the effects of ingredients and studied until he could understand the mathematics behind the formulas. And gradually, he began to improve. Years of being overshadowed by Hermione Granger in the classroom had left him with a large inferiority complex when it came to schoolwork; but finally here was proof that he was intelligent too. In Potions he was quick to pick up new concepts, and he was a hard worker. Mrs. Figg and Lupin praised him to the skies and Harry felt at last that he could be a good student in his own right.  
  
Additionally, Harry's nightmares stopped, and for the first time in weeks he was able to sleep soundly every night. When she found out that he was having trouble sleeping, Mrs. Figg made Harry drink a glass of warm milk every evening before going to bed, and Harry was surprised to discover that this actually did work: scarcely would the milk pass down his throat before he felt his eyelids droop with fatigue. Harry did not question this miraculous cure; he simply accepted it as a display of more of Mrs. Figg's hidden wisdom.  
  
Three of the cats, Snowball, Loyola, and Tigris, all still avoided Lupin, but Leon and Tibbles II began to accept him-at least the latter two could tolerate being in the same room as him. Mrs. Figg also let Harry in on the secret to Tibbles II's odd appearance.  
  
"He's not actually a cat," she confessed when Harry commented on Tibbles' unusually broad ears and strange fur patterns. "Tibbles is a Kneazle. Have you learned about those yet in Care of Magical Creatures, Potter?" Harry shook his head and Mrs. Figg snorted. "They're falling behind at that school. Very well, here's your first Kneazle lesson. They do look a lot like cats. This specimen was bought from a magical marketplace in Bangladesh not unlike London's Diagon Alley, as a gift to me from my husband. Of course, since I was going to treat Tibbles as a regular cat, it meant that Muggles like your dreadful Uncle Vernon might see him and notice the subtle differences between him and the other cats. So I had to take an MPOAT, a Magical Pet Owner Aptitude Test at the Ministry, from the Department for Magical Creatures. It was quite easy. It was just for getting a license to own and train Tibbles."  
  
"Train him? Can Tibbles do tricks?" Harry asked, looking at the Kneazle skeptically.  
  
"Of course not!" said Mrs. Figg, sounding highly insulted. "No, I've been training him for better things. He's highly loyal, you know, and if we took him out even as far as Normandy, he could probably lead us back here, or to whatever I trained him to find."  
  
"A bit like a homing pigeon?" asked Harry, thinking of the Muggle-trained birds.  
  
"Rather like a homing Kneazle," commented Lupin.  
  
Harry patted Tibbles' head, and the creature immediately went into euphoric purring.  
  
"He likes you," said Mrs. Figg, pleased. "Maybe you should get a Kneazle, Potter."  
  
Harry shook his head. "An owl's enough trouble. Uncle Vernon would probably go bats if I brought in a magical cat."  
  
"All the more reason to get one," said Mrs. Figg mischievously. 


	7. The Surprise Party

Harry's stay with Mrs. Figg was drawing to a close. Lupin was also leaving soon, only two days before Harry. Harry was trying not to think about Privet Drive or about the Dursleys. Fortunately, something that kept his mind off his cousin Dudley was the fact that the fourth-last day before his reluctant return to number four Privet Drive was his birthday. That morning, Harry woke feeling mixed emotions. He was excited about his birthday, but he dreaded the prospect of having to go back to the Dursleys after one of the most pleasant months of his life. Harry walked slowly down the stairs to the kitchen, trying to memorize everything he saw, smelled and felt in the house, including the cabbagey/Wolfsbane potion odour and the sight of cat (and Kneazle) hair on everything. He pushed open the door to the kitchen and jumped back in astonishment when there was a shout of-  
  
"SURPRISE!"  
  
Confetti floated down on Lupin and Mrs. Figg, who stood beneath a banner which read "Happy 15th Birthday Harry". Between them was the kitchen table, and on the kitchen table was a giant birthday cake with "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" written in pink icing. Fifteen green candles dotted the chocolatey surface.  
  
Harry was speechless.  
  
Lupin beamed. "Happy birthday, Harry! We were certain you'd never had a birthday party before, so here we are!"  
  
"I made that cake," said Mrs. Figg with much pride. "I hope you like chocolate."  
  
"It's an excellent cake, and I love chocolate," Harry reassured her as he found his voice again. "You're right, I never had a birthday party before." He looked around at the decorated kitchen wonderingly. "How did you do this without my finding out? I never thought- I mean I didn't- well, thank you!"  
  
"You're welcome, Potter," said Mrs. Figg. A swish of her wand set the candles alight. "Now, make a wish!"  
  
"But don't tell us what it is," interjected Lupin, "or else it won't come true."  
  
"Blow out the candles!" urged Mrs. Figg.  
  
Harry's face split into a wide grin. It was the first time in his life that he was ever making a wish on his birthday cake. After a moment's though, Harry blew out the candles in one breath, thinking his wish but not voicing it aloud. Lupin and Mrs. Figg cheered.  
  
"Open your presents!" cried Lupin. He flicked his wand and a pile of gifts suddenly appeared at Harry's feet. While Mrs. Figg sliced the birthday cake, Harry ripped the ribbons and wrappings off the gifts and discovered thoughtful tokens from all of his friends.  
  
Ron Weasley had sent a watch which Harry initially thought was a regular Muggle wristwatch, but which turned out on closer inspection to have been magically tinkered with, undoubtedly with the help of Ron's Muggle-obsessed father.  
  
Ron's older twin brothers, Fred and George, had also sent a parcel. Harry opened it prudently, and was not surprised when its contents exploded in his face. He was, however, startled to find another box inside the first, after the smoke cleared. This one was long and thin, and contained several fake wands from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the twins' joke-making venture.  
  
Hermione Granger's gift was a thick book of the history of the British Quidditch league, with a card that had been charmed to pop open and persistently sing "Happy Birthday" at him, until he tied it shut with a ribbon.  
  
Sirius Black sent a brand new lime green Fwooper-tail quill which wrote in appropriately matching lime green ink.  
  
From Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts groundskeeper, there was an enchanted Hippogriff figurine, which Hagrid apparently thought would evoke fond memories from Harry. The figurine, however, behaved exactly like a full- size Hippogriff would, and was not so fond of Harry at first. It flew out of its box straight at Harry's face the moment he pulled off the cover. Harry ducked and the miniature Hippogriff, obviously outraged at having been cooped up in a box for several hours, narrowly missed clawing two talonfuls of hair off the top of his head. It turned back for another pass, but Tibbles leapt up out of nowhere and knocked the figurine out of the air. Harry managed grab a box and shut the Hippogriff model back inside. Once the box had been secured with Tibbles sitting on top of it, Harry went on and opened the rest of his presents.  
  
Dean Thomas, who was very good at drawing, had painted a picture of the Hogwarts crest and framed it. Seamus Finnigan had given Harry a package of Acid Pops, a candy which had once burned a hole right through Ron Weasley's tongue. Parvati Patil's present was a big bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister who had a big crush on Harry, gave him a large sugar quill.  
  
The pile dwindled until there was one present left. It was a large, heavy package wrapped in scarlet paper with gold polka dots and a golden ribbon. Harry opened the card. His jaw dropped when he saw the signature at the bottom. Lupin peered over his shoulder and made an impressed noise. "Albus Dumbledore sent you a birthday gift?"  
  
"He's so thoughtful," raved Mrs. Figg as she finished her slice of cake. "Why, I remember once when I had broken my leg, he sent me a box of chocolates and the entire Westminster Abbey choir to sing me lullabies. Albus is just so kind, it's no wonder everyone likes him. What did he send you, Potter?"  
  
Harry opened the box and found a shallow stone basin with strange carvings etched on the rim. He stared at it uncomprehendingly until Mrs. Figg looked inside the box and smiled. "Why, it's a Pensieve! I've heard it's a bit like a memory well. Haven't you seen one of these before, Potter?"  
  
Then Harry did recognize the object. It was a shallower, empty version of the Pensieve that Dumbledore himself owned. Harry had had a chance to observe the Pensieve, a magical invention, at work the year before, when he had accidentally fallen into Dumbledore's memories, preserved in the stone basin in the form of quicksilver strands. And now he had one of his own. The Pensieve's purpose was to organize the user's mind by keeping their surplus thoughts in the basin, for future reference or meditation. Harry thought this was a very useful gift, and decided to remember to thank Professor Dumbledore the next time he saw him.  
  
He turned back to Mrs. Figg and Lupin, intending to express his gratitude.  
  
"I want to thank you," began Harry, and then he couldn't say any more because his throat was inexplicably choked up. But Mrs. Figg came and gave him a warm hug and Lupin patted him kindly on the shoulder, and he knew they both understood.  
  
* * *  
  
The rest of the time passed like a blur for Harry. Remus Lupin packed his trunk and Disapparated, not telling Harry where he was going but promising that they would meet again soon. Then it came Harry's turn to pack up his belongings and get ready to leave. When the end of Harry's stay with Mrs. Figg finally came about, he was surprised to find that he was genuinely sorry. Normally he had no one to talk to during the summer, besides Hedwig. Mrs. Figg and Lupin were excellent company, and had made Harry's summer much less lonely.  
  
The day of his departure arrived. The Dursleys came back from the airport at three o'clock. Harry went home at four. Before he left, he stood on the front walkway and Mrs. Figg stood on the porch, both at a loss for words. They looked just like when Harry had arrived, but now there was a different atmosphere. Harry didn't know what to say to the caring woman who had taught him so much in the space of four weeks and who had been watching over him since he was a baby. Finally he broke the silence by saying, "I can come visit you every day, can't I?"  
  
Surprisingly, Mrs. Figg shook her head. "It would stir up a lot of questions. I'm meant to be the mad old cat lady of the neighbourhood, and you're supposed to be the wayward scamp who attends St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. It would look awfully peculiar if you suddenly started wandering over here all the time, wouldn't it? And in any case, even if you did come after today, you would find an empty house. I won't be back here for a while. I'm going away to deal with business."  
  
"What sort of business?" asked Harry before he could curb his curiosity.  
  
"That's not for you to know," said Mrs. Figg loftily. "I leave tonight. Now off you go, there's a good lad." She patted Harry on the head and smiled affectionately at him. "Good-bye, Potter. I enjoyed your stay very much, rather more than I thought I would."  
  
"Thank you for letting me stay with you, Mrs. Figg," said Harry. "I really do appreciate all you did."  
  
Then Harry turned around and dragged his trunk and Hedwig, in her cage, off the porch.  
  
"Oh, Potter," called Mrs. Figg, and Harry stopped on the sidewalk. "I have one more little thing for you." With a furtive glance around the empty street, Mrs. Figg pointed her wand at Harry's trunk and murmured a spell. Little wheels were conjured up out of nowhere and fastened to the bottom of Harry's trunk. "I'd make it levitate by itself but that would be even more suspicious than mysteriously appearing wheels."  
  
Harry grinned. "Thanks, Mrs. Figg!"  
  
Mrs. Figg smiled wordlessly, and went inside her house. And Harry pulled his trunk back to number four Privet Drive, where a red, sunburnt Dudley was waiting, inventing fictitious tales of how much fun he'd in Barbados to taunt Harry with. 


	8. Nightmares and One Vigilant Cat

One night, shortly after coming back to the Dursleys', Harry was sitting by the window. The reason he could not sleep was presently wreaking havoc all over Europe, cursing wizards and Muggles alike, roaming the continent on a horrific killing spree. The reason he could not sleep had a long, snakelike face with thin red eyes and pupils that were catlike slits, and a high, cold voice. Lord Voldemort, recently risen from the realm of the undead, haunted Harry in his thoughts and in his dreams. He was an omnipresent threat in and to Harry's life. Every night, Harry slept in fits and starts, drifting and dreaming, but waking abruptly after graphic nightmares, a scream trying to escape through his clenched teeth. Tonight he had fallen asleep dreaming of playing Quidditch.  
  
The referee blew the whistle and Harry kicked off from the ground. He suddenly felt free and unrestrained; the wind whipped his hair and he soared high into the sky. But as he looked down at the other players, he realized that he was the only person wearing his uniform colours, Gryffindor's scarlet and gold robes. The other team wore black robes with the hoods up, and all of them wore leering grins. Harry recognized some of them. There was his archnemesis Draco Malfoy, and his father Lucius. He saw Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and huge, burly men who could only be their fathers. There was Peter Pettigrew, the treacherous turncoat who had handed over Harry's parents to Voldemort almost fourteen years ago. Harry realized suddenly that all of the other players were Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort's nefarious disciples. He was surrounded. He also realized that he wasn't on his regular Firebolt, but was riding a Comet 1, a cruder, slower model,, and that he was without his wand. He was seventy feet above the ground and completely defenseless, and the Death Eaters were quickly advancing on him, every one mounted on a swift, speedy Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Harry desperately dipped and wove around them, trying to manoeuvre his own awkward broomstick, but it was to no avail; the Death Eaters swooped and looped around him easily, each pulling a crooked twig from the end of Harry's substandard broom till he was riding nothing but a long, thin pole. Looking down at the stands, a face stood out of the crowds, and Harry felt his insides turn to ice as he found himself staring into a pale, snakelike face with narrowed red eyes. Lord Voldemort was in the crowds, hexing him, and in his dream Harry screamed, because Voldemort was raising a wand. A deadly curse was imminent, but Harry couldn't stay in the air on his skeleton broom long enough to wait for it. He screamed as he fell, the cold air rushing past his face, and the ground rose up to meet him-  
  
Then Harry had woken up. His scar had been searing excruciatingly as he jolted awake, and now, several hours later, as he sat by the window, his scar still burned a little. He had tried drinking warm milk before bed as he had done at Mrs. Figg's house, but he had discovered that for some odd reason, it didn't work so well at number four Privet Drive. It had taken some time before Harry remembered that the milk he had drunk had always been prepared by Mrs. Figg, and that she was a skilled Potions maker; she had obviously been mixing in some kind of Sleeping Draught.  
  
Outside the window, it was drizzling, as it had been for the past few days. Hedwig had left the house the day before, and Harry was loath to think of her out in the rain, getting soaked. But he couldn't blame her for wanting to be free of her cage; he himself longed to abandon the Dursleys and number four Privet Drive. Harry yearned to run away and leave everything behind, to desert everyone and move to someplace where no one knew his name, and where magical scars didn't wake people up in the middle of the night, stinging with enough vengeance to crack people's heads in half. Where evil wizard lords didn't exist, and Voldemort was just a made-up name. But-here Harry checked himself, and stopped his imagination from dreaming up a fantasy world. He was here and now, in this world where Voldemort was a very real global threat. The world would never achieve that utopian state if Harry didn't do something-but that was part of Harry's problem, too: no one would tell him what was happening, and he wasn't being allowed out of Privet Drive, besides his stay with Mrs. Figg the month before.  
  
Harry gazed despondently out into the rain, then frowned curiously when he noticed a large white speck against the fat white moon, getting bigger and bigger. Harry realized what it was just before it crashed into the house, and hurriedly opened the window to let in Hedwig and a tawny owl, carrying a large, heavy parcel between them. Both owls were waterlogged and looked exhausted, but after Harry had dried off the tawny owl it hooted appreciatively and took off again. Harry shut the window behind it and turned his attention to Hedwig, who, when she was dry, hopped into her cage and fell asleep. Only then did Harry open up the parcel, which had been tightly wrapped in plastic and bound with twine. He cleared away the plastic wrap and discovered a pile of textbooks, new rolls of parchment, and spare quills. There were also two envelopes with his name and address on each. Harry recognized the first as the annual letter from Hogwarts telling him what materials he would need for next year-but curiously, it was already opened. The other envelope was addressed in his godfather Sirius Black's scrawl, and Harry ripped open the letter eagerly, hoping for news of his godfather's situation and an explanation for this strange package.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Surprise! I have taken the liberty of getting you your new school things for your fifth year. Now you have everything on the equipment list, which is enclosed, and you didn't even have to leave Privet Drive and go all the way to Diagon Alley. You know, I expect profuse thanks for doing this errand for you.  
  
Snuffles  
  
Harry gaped at the letter. Then he looked at the books, and then read the letter again. Profuse thanks? Going down to Diagon Alley had been the one thing he had been looking forward to since Mrs. Figg had left, and now they wouldn't even let him go. He balled up his fists in outrage. Did they think he was still a child, that he couldn't be trusted to look after himself? Did no one trust him?  
  
Harry flopped back on his bed. Then he furiously crumpled up the note and shredded it into tiny pieces, and threw them into his wastebasket. I'm fifteen years old and no one trusts me to go buy books, Harry thought irritably. Yeah, thanks a lot, Sirius.  
  
* * *  
  
During the night, the rain slowed to a drizzle and then stopped entirely. When Harry fell asleep at last, a shadowy figure stole out from behind the hedge and tiptoed across the Dursleys' slippery wet lawn. But she found that some kind of invisible barricade had been erected right through the middle of Petunia Dursley's flowerbed. Figuring that it was at least worth a try, the witch stepped back and drew a wand from inside her robes.  
  
"Avada-" she began.  
  
Suddenly a cat with dark square marks around her eyes and a gold ring on her right paw appeared jumped out from the azalea bushes and surprised the witch. The cat sprang at at the witch and knocked the wand from her hand.  
  
The cat gave a yowl and a young wizard appeared suddenly. He was a tall lean Black boy of twenty-three, with purple eyes (the result of a tiff with a friend in the Department of Experimental Charms, who had promptly died without leaving the countercurse) and a golden ring on the little finger of his right hand.  
  
The wizard drew his wand and aimed at the witch. "Stupefy!"  
  
The witch collapsed, unconscious, in Petunia Dursley's prized hydrangeas.  
  
The wizard, Quintius Croaker, heaved a sigh. "That was close, Minerva."  
  
He turned to the cat and found a grim-faced witch beside him. Her ring had stayed on her hand through the transformation from cat to woman. "It was a rather clumsy attempt, Croaker," said Minerva McGonagall, "but it was a close call. We must tighten up security." She looked up at Harry's window. "Fortunately, the boy still doesn't suspect a thing."  
  
The wizard put out his hand and felt a wall that he could not see. "I don't understand what's going on here. Albus hadn't time to explain. Could you tell me quickly?"  
  
"Well, as you know, since Voldemort came back in June, his old followers have been stirred up a bit. A lot of them, wanting their master's esteem, have tried to come here and kill Harry Potter. Presumably Voldemort sees Potter as some sort of symbol for the magical community. He has a mad obsession with killing Potter, even when the boy's no threat to him anymore."  
  
"Isn't he? What happened to the one not being able to touch the other for the pain?"  
  
"Voldemort went round that one. He used Potter's blood in his resurrection potion. He took rather the long way round according to Dumbledore, but it was still effective. But he's still fixated on Potter, and Dumbledore thinks that's how we might get him. These Death Eaters," she gave the witch at her feet a little kick, "they keep coming to kill Potter, so Voldemort obviously wants him dead somehow."  
  
"But he's not sending them," said Croaker. "That's not his style. His approach is going to be much more roundabout, just like his way of avoiding the pain from Potter. I think he'd rather like to do the job himself." Minerva McGonagall shuddered, but Croaker took no notice. "He knows that there are few people he can trust to do it. Even his loyal Death Eaters let their ambition overleap them and make critical mistakes. Some of them are complete bunglers, like our would-be assassin here. And do you know, I think Voldemort would get more satisfaction out of killing the boy himself."  
  
"He has been chasing Potter forever," agreed Minerva. "But until he comes himself for the boy, we can at least arrest and convict some of these blundering traitors. You're to take her back to Dumbledore for questioning and imprisonment. Heavens, I don't know where we can put these people. Azkaban is out of the question, in Albus' opinion. He doesn't think it's secure enough, but he can't convince the Ministry."  
  
"You're staying here?"  
  
"Yes, but my shift ends at two-thirty. Cassius Egg is next on the schedule, I believe."  
  
"And you'll be putting up new curseproof bulwarks?"  
  
"Yes, Croaker. I know what I'm doing. Now be off with you."  
  
Croaker stooped to pick up the witch in the hydrangeas, but gasped and drew back, his violet-irised eyes wide. "Ellie!"  
  
"You know her?" Minerva asked, surprised.  
  
"Yes, Eleanor Lovegood-she was a friend of mine when we were at Hogwarts."  
  
"Ah yes! I remember teaching you two. Always chatting away in the back of the Transfiguration classroom like my lectures didn't matter."  
  
"But we were in Hufflepuff, not Slytherin! I never would have imagined that she'd go in with Voldemort!"  
  
"Dumbledore will be waiting," said McGonagall. "Go on."  
  
Quintius Croaker vanished, carrying Eleanor Lovegood. Minerva McGonagall changed back into a cat and resumed her post, skulking behind the bushes.  
  
Upstairs, Harry Potter slept soundly. 


	9. The Pensieve

It was the middle of August now. Harry awoke from a nightmare full of screams and murderous faces and high, cold cackles. A glance at his bedside clock told him it was two o'clock in the morning.  
  
Though he didn't know it, a cat named Minerva had just prevented another enemy from doing away with Harry. She put up additional invisible barriers and then changed places with an elderly wizard who had come to relieve her for a few hours. He pulled his Invisibility Cloak over his head and resolutely took up his post under Harry's window.  
  
Harry tossed and turned for twenty minutes, then had to accept that he wasn't going to sleep again that night. Whenever he closed his eyes, the image behind his eyelids was of a large stone chamber, with people chained to the walls. All of these prisoners were dying. Some were already dead. And in the middle of the room stood Lord Voldemort, holding his wand, laughing as he tortured innocent witches and wizards for his own amusement.  
  
Harry got out of bed and looked around for something to pass the time till dawn. His eyes were tired, so he didn't feel like reading his textbooks. He wished he could make himself a Sleeping Potion so that he could have dreamless sleep, but it was too risky to try it in the Dursleys' house because he would need to light a fire in order to boil the shrivelfigs, and besides, the potion created a terrible stench while it was simmering.  
  
Harry was suddenly struck by a bright idea to pass time. He pulled his new Pensieve out of his trunk and sat down with it on his bed.  
  
"Sit down in a quiet place with your Pensieve," said the instruction manual. "Concentrate on the memory that you want to draw out of your head."  
  
Harry focussed his mind on the nightmare he had just had.  
  
"Place the tip of your wand to your temple and think the words, 'Memoria Lavoria', while still thinking of your memory."  
  
Harry did so, trying to think about the magic formula and about his dream at the same time, while he also had to read the instructions and hold up his wand at the side of his head.  
  
"Now simply pull your wand away from your temple and place your memory in the Pensieve."  
  
Harry pulled, and felt the most curious sensation. It was like pulling a chunk of his mind out through his skull. It was a wonderful feeling, like taking a great burden off his shoulders. He felt almost physically lighter.  
  
The end of the complete thought left his temple and Harry held up his wand, with the thought dangling from the tip, in front of himself. He expected to see a shining silver thread, and was disappointed to find something that looked like a grey, sticky, overcooked spaghetti spattered with blood, clinging to his wand.  
  
"Note: Do not be alarmed if your thoughts initially resemble grey, sticky, overcooked strands of spaghetti splattered with blood," the instructions reassured him. "With practise, you will learn to refine your thought- removal technique." It went on, "To release your memory, simply swirl your wand tip clockwise in a circle around the bottom of the Pensieve."  
  
Harry placed his wand inside the Pensieve basin and swirled as directed. After two circles the overcooked spaghetti-like thread left the tip of his wand and continued in the circuit on its own. In another moment it had spread out across the bottom of the Pensieve in a very sheer, murky layer. Harry peered in over the rim and discerned a blurry picture-the torture chamber of his nightmare.  
  
Harry was delighted at his first success. He moved several more of his dreams into the Pensieve. By then his thought threads were free of blood smudges and were slightly less glutinous, and the Pensieve was filling with a clear, gossamer-like substance.  
  
Harry wondered if he was ready to transfer his memory of the Triwizard Tournament.  
  
"To move more significant memories, simply follow above instructions, using the words 'Memini Dediscere' in place of the regular words," said the directions. "Warning: If it is a painful memory, you may feel a sting as the memory exits your temple."  
  
Harry followed the instructions and felt a twinge of pain in his scar as a glistening whitish thought left his temple. He placed it in the Pensieve and swirled it around, then peered inside.  
  
The bottom of the Pensieve showed a darkened scene, with several slabs of rock jutting out of the ground here and there. Harry jumped when he saw himself and Cedric appear out of nowhere, clutching the Triwizard Cup between them. He shut his eyes quickly, unwilling to relive the horrific episode.  
  
Then he heard a knocking on his window and opened his eyes. A screech owl and a tennis-ball-sized owl hovered outside his window.  
  
Harry jumped off his bed and threw open the window. The little owl, Pigwidgeon, dropped a note on his head and fluttered round the room, hooting exuberantly in its tiny little voice. The screech owl, whom Harry recognized as Percy Weasley's Hermes, dropped a large package on the floor and flew into Hedwig's empty cage to rest for a few minutes.  
  
Harry picked the note out of his hair and read,  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
You wrote me last week that you were having trouble sleeping, so in case you still can't sleep, here is a book that Lee Jordan lent George. It's a biography of this brilliant Quidditch player, Dangerous Dai, by the same bloke who wrote Quidditch Through the Ages, Kennelly Wasp or something. Sorry if sending two owls makes trouble for you, it's that Pig can't carry heavy things like books but he was wild to go deliver something. Don't bother rushing Hermes back here, Percy's got a report on standardized quill lengths to deliver to some foreign Ministry and we want to see how long it will take them to notice they haven't gotten it. I want to keep Hermes away till about next May because that's the date I bet on.  
  
Ron  
  
Harry ripped the paper off the package Hermes had dropped and uncovered a well-loved copy He Flew Like a Madman by Kennilworthy Whisp. "Excellent! Thanks Ron!"  
  
He was glad to put the Pensieve under the loose floorboard by his bed and forget the memory of the Triwizard Tournament. Then he sat at his desk and read till the rays of dawn spilled through his window. 


	10. Azkaban

Far, far away from where Harry sat reading his book, a rowboat was cutting through choppy white-crested waves on the North Sea. The boat moved magically at an astonishing speed through the dark, icy waters. The sky was clear, allowing the crescent moon to cast a faint silver light on the hideous face, whiter than a skull, with red eyes and pupils like slits, of a wizard who stood imperiously at the bow of the boat. Behind him in the boat were two other wizards, who sat wordlessly fingering their wands and watching their master.  
  
Lord Voldemort's snakelike features were impassive as he stared forward at the giant stone fortress looming up straight ahead on the water. The two seated wizards shivered as the boat approached the island on which the stone fortress sat, and it wasn't because of the wind that whipped their black robes and tousled their hair. It was because even at this distance they could feel the bleak, dismal coldness that the fortress exuded. Their blood was turning to ice and their hearts were filling with a strange, melancholy despair as if there would never be good times again. It was a feeling even worse than physical pain. But Voldemort stood motionless, and it was difficult to tell whether he also felt that misery.  
  
Straight ahead there was a deserted wooden dock, and this was where their boat glided to a stop. Voldemort and his two servants disembarked and moved up to the fortress. The two Death Eaters tried to mask their agony as they stumbled after their calm, almost regal master. It was clear now that Voldemort felt none of the horrific effects of the vile Dementors that guarded this fortress.  
  
They reached the front of the fortress, where the huge, heavy front doors split the windowless uniformity of the high stone walls. Though it was large enough to be a medieval king's castle, it was clearly not the case. This was a bleak, joyless building, a plain grey box of the soundest stone available to man. This was Azkaban Fortress, the wizard prison, the most dismal place on the face of the Earth. It was also widely considered to be the most secure place on Earth because of the soul-sucking Dementors who guarded the fortress; but two people knew that this was not the case. Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort were both aware that the Dementors had their weaknesses, and that there were ways to get past the Dementors. One was to find some way to resist their powers, and slip past the blind fiends; and the other was to trick them into become allies. Two years ago Sirius Black had succeeded in the first method and escaped to the mainland, and now Lord Voldemort was using the second method.  
  
Voldemort strode to the giant double doors and knocked three times. The sound echoed ominously inside the desolate fortress. Then the door opened and a Dementor ushered them in.  
  
It was pitch-black when they entered, but at the command of the first Dementor, another of the creatures magically lit the torches that lined the wall and they found themselves in a large, empty stone chamber.  
  
Voldemort began conversing in a low voice with the Dementor. The pale, terrified Death Eaters tried not to faint from the presence of the Dementor.  
  
Lord Voldemort and the Dementor at length finished their discussion, and the Dementor beckoned to the three, indicating that it would lead the way. The Death Eaters' stomachs turned at the sight of the Dementor's greyish, slimy, scabby hand poking out of its sleeve, but they followed their master, their hearts heavy with a peculiar despair, out of the chamber into a wide, darkened corridor. Voldemort gave his servants a torch, because though Voldemort and the Dementor shunned light, the two Death Eaters did need light to see. The Death Eaters managed to take in some of their surroundings as they followed the Dementor down cold stone staircases and through twists and turns in the winding corridor. All along the walls were prison cells. The light from the torch cast striped shadows across the faces of the sleeping convicts.  
  
The Death Eaters were confused in the maze of hallways and stairs, but they understood that they were heading downwards, to the maximum security prisons. These cells did not have one open side of bars like the ones upstairs. Here lived the most dangerous convicts in Britain, and this warranted a lockup system similar to that of Gringotts Bank in London. They had no padlocks, but could only be opened by a Dementor's touch. These were the cells that Voldemort wanted to visit.  
  
The Dementor stopped in front of one heavy iron door and ran its sickly grey finger down the metal. The iron slid upwards into the stone wall. Then the Dementor stood aside to let Voldemort pass him and enter the cell.  
  
A gaunt, disheveled creature was crouched in the corner, shivering miserably. His light brown hair was long and straggly. The bones in his face jutted out markedly under his paper-thin skin because he was so emaciated. His skin was the sickly white colour of skin that has not seen the light of day in many years, which was what this man had gone through for sixteen years. His brown eyes were glassy and had a haunted sort of look. He jumped, terrified, when Voldemort's shadow fell across the floor.  
  
"Who's there?" croaked the man in a thin, feeble voice. "It's not my time, it's not my time! I can't get the Kiss, please don't do it."  
  
"Derrick," Voldemort said.  
  
The prisoner stared, then gasped. "My Lord! Master, they said you'd fallen, they said you'd been defeated, oh, I never expected that you would come."  
  
"Come here, Derrick," Voldemort said gently.  
  
Derrick Lestrange struggled to his knees and crawled across the slimy stone floor to his master. Half-blind, it took him a moment to find the hem of Voldemort's robe so he could kiss it. Then he backed up and squinted up at Voldemort's face.  
  
"My loyal Death Eater," Voldemort said, touching Derrick Lestrange's skeletal face. "What miseries you have suffered for me."  
  
"They were well worth it," Lestrange whispered hoarsely. "But I had no idea that you were still alive. Great wizard that you are, I didn't think it possible for anyone to survive Avada Kedavra! I heard the new prisoners screaming that you had fallen to a boy, a small boy, and I did not believe it at first. But as time went on and I languished here in this hellhole, I thought that perhaps. But how did you do it?" He was agitated. "What happened, master? Please, tell me!"  
  
"Soon, we will talk calmly and I will tell you everything that you have missed in the last sixteen years. But not now. Now is the time for quiet and discreet action. Can you not stand and look me in the face? You have no reason to be penitent."  
  
"My legs are too weak, my Lord, for I have not stood in ages. My eyes sting with pain because I am unused to the light. And my voice is faint because I have had no one to speak to in so many years." He looked up pleadingly at Voldemort. "My wife, my darling wife Maldora-is she still living?"  
  
"I am not certain," Voldemort said. "But come, we will see her now."  
  
At Voldemort's command, the two Death Eaters came inside and carefully lifted up Derrick Lestrange. They carried him out of the cell and down the hall after Voldemort and the Dementor. Derrick clung to his companions gratefully.  
  
"Forgive me, my friends, but I can't see your faces. Do we know each other?"  
  
"Derrick, it's us," said one Death Eater. "Remember? Walden MacNair?"  
  
"MacNair?" Derrick thought he recalled the man's voice in some far-off chamber of his mind. "Ah yes. MacNair, I think I remember."  
  
"And Tiberius Nott," said the other Death Eater. Derrick recognized this voice quickly, because he and Nott had been close friends years ago.  
  
"Tiberius, my old friend," Derrick whispered, excited. "This is like a wonderful dream. I think that I am going to wake up soon."  
  
"It's real, Derrick, and everything is under control," Nott said soothingly. "We'll see Maldora now."  
  
They stopped in front of another iron door and the Dementor performed the same trick on it with his scabby, repulsive hand. The door slid open to reveal a haggard witch lying prone on the dank stone ground by the wall across from the door. Her head lay on a pillow of her own long flaxen hair. Her eyes were closed.  
  
Derrick gave a weak gasp. "Maldora!"  
  
The witch's eyelids fluttered. "Who's there?"  
  
MacNair and Nott looked at each other, surprised. Maldora did not speak in Derrick's feeble croak, but instead in the clear dulcet tones they remembered from years before.  
  
"Maldora?" Lord Voldemort said.  
  
Maldora Lestrange sat up quickly and stared at them in wonder. MacNair and Nott noted that her ice-blue eyes were clear and her face did not have the nervous, edgy sort of look about it that Derrick's had. "Master? Why, it is you! You've come at last! Oh, I knew you would come, I knew you could never be defeated." She scrambled to her feet and came forward to kneel at Voldemort's feet and kiss the hem of his robes.  
  
"Maldora," Derrick croaked, as she stood up without difficulty. "Maldora, my love."  
  
She noticed him at last, and the Lestranges stared at each other for a moment. Then she rushed forward to embrace him, crying, "Derrick, oh Derrick, how long it's been!"  
  
"I love you, Maldora," Derrick said tenderly. "I never stopped thinking of you."  
  
"I never stopped thinking of you either," Maldora said, fervently kissing his gaunt face. "I knew, I knew that one day we'd be reunited."  
  
The Dementors suddenly made a rattling, sucking noise, and all present except Voldemort drooped. Derrick clutched at his wife's neck.  
  
"It's getting excited," he whispered. "It wants to suck out our happiness."  
  
"Hush, darling, calm down," Maldora said.  
  
"How do you look so well?" Voldemort asked her suddenly. "It is incomprehensible."  
  
"No my lord, it was an easy matter. My voice is fine because I talked to myself for all these long years to keep myself at least a little sane. And I have been pacing my cell endlessly, which is why my muscles did not atrophy."  
  
"But how did you find the strength to resist the guards?" MacNair said, casting a nervous look at the Dementor.  
  
Maldora frowned. "Truly I don't know. I've always heard such terrible tales of their powers, of the anguish that they create in people's hearts; but when I myself am here near them, I don't feel it much. It's more annoying than disheartening."  
  
"This is unusual," Voldemort said slowly, frowning. "The very reason I selected their kind to be our allies is because I have never seen anyone who could resist their powers. Except for myself, of course. And-" He stopped and looked at Maldora. "But perhaps there is some kind of magic inside you that gives you this extraordinary ability."  
  
"Perhaps," Maldora said, bored of the discussion. "Though I do not know of any."  
  
"Tell us, master," said Derrick, "how has the miracle of our release come to pass?"  
  
Voldemort smiled thinly. "I have arranged with the guards to remove several prisoners tonight. You two are the first, but your some of your friends are still trapped in this miserable hole. Come, Death Eaters, and help me liberate your brethren."  
  
The Dementor made a displeased noise, and Voldemort paused to smile at the hooded creature.  
  
"Ah yes. I must fulfil my part of the deal as well. MacNair!"  
  
MacNair reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches, which he carefully handed to Voldemort. Derrick and Maldora stared uncomprehendingly.  
  
"Look," Voldemort said, opening the box and holding it out.  
  
"Ten matchsticks," said Maldora.  
  
"No," said Voldemort. "Ten Muggles."  
  
He took one matchstick out of the box and threw it on the floor in Maldora's cell. Then he pulled out his wand and pointed at the match.  
  
"Finite Incantato."  
  
The match lengthened quickly, growing longer and fatter into the shape of a human male. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and his Muggleness was painfully obvious in his outlandishly magical surroundings. He sat on the cold floor, staring at them dazedly.  
  
"Good-bye, filthy Muggle," Voldemort said. The Muggle's eyes widened and he was scrambling across the floor towards the doorway when the Dementor let the iron door slam down, sealing him in forever. His screams were hardly audible through the door.  
  
Nine cells in total were vacated and subsequently re-filled with different inmate. The Dementors were aware of the change but hardly cared, because a human soul was a human soul, and the Dementors needed their nourishment. What did it matter to them which ones were convicted criminals? The Dementors even got a bonus human. Halvard Travers, one of the Death Eaters that Voldemort had been planning to take away, had turned out to have died without anyone noticing, but Voldemort had graciously agreed to leave the Muggle who would have taken Travers' place at Azkaban with the Dementors.  
  
All in all it was a very successful night for all parties involved, Voldemort decided as the Death Eaters all climbed into the boat. They cast off from the dock and as they sailed across the dark water for the other shore, Lord Voldemort stood calmly at the bow of the boat, faced his loyal followers, and began telling them the story of a boy named Harry Potter who had stymied the Dark Lord so many times-but who would not escape this time. Not when Voldemort had all his Death Eaters back. Harry Potter was as good as dead. 


	11. Hogwarts, At Last

"Finally," said Harry, crossing off August 31 with great relish. Today he was going back to Hogwarts. He dressed in a rush, stuffed his meagre possessions into his trunk, closed the door to Hedwig's cage, and hauled his luggage downstairs. He looked at his new watch, the gift from Ron Weasley, and noted with much relief that it was time to leave for the train station. Uncle Vernon drove him to King's Cross station in London and then left without so much as a "farewell", but Harry didn't care. He loaded his things into a trolley and pushed it casually through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and onto-  
  
Platform nine and three-quarters, where a scarlet steam engine waited to whisk the students off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for ten glorious months in a Dursley-free environment, which was to Harry one of the most advantageous features of the school. Harry felt a thrill of anticipation as he pushed his trolley down the platform, looking for familiar faces.  
  
The first person he recognized stood by the train with his back to Harry, talking to someone hanging out the window of a compartment. He was a redhead, tall and gangling with long arms and legs. He looked exactly like he had the year before, but Harry thought that maybe he looked a few centimetres taller now.  
  
"Ron!" called Harry, and the other turned around and grinned.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Harry shoved his trolley forward and ran to Ron. They greeted each other with tremendous excitement as it was the first time they'd seen each other in two months. Together they heaved Harry's trunk onto the train and found an empty compartment near the middle. There they stowed themselves and their owls' cages, and settled in to catch up on each other's summer holidays as the steam engine pulled away from the platform.  
  
Ron was explaining how his stuffy older brother Percy had been tested on during the creation of new and improved Canary Creams when their compartment door slid open a crack. A bushy-haired brunette peered in, and pushed the door wide open with a sigh of relief.  
  
"Thank goodness I found you two at last!" exclaimed Hermione Granger, entering and shutting the door behind her. She was clutching a large wicker basket containing her cat, Crookshanks. Hermione collapsed on the seat beside Harry, who observed that she also did not appear to have changed at all since last year. "I've had to peek in nearly every compartment. Did you get my present, Harry? I must say, I wondered what was going on when Hedwig showed up at my window in the middle of the night with a letter saying you desperately needed birthday gifts."  
  
"I got Hedwig, too!" said Ron. "I didn't know you were so greedy, Harry."  
  
"It wasn't me who sent Hedwig," said Harry, "it must have been Mrs. Figg or Lupin!"  
  
Ron and Hermione were bewildered.  
  
"Who's Mrs. Figg?" said Ron.  
  
"When did you see Lupin?" asked Hermione at the same time.  
  
So Harry found himself recounting the story of his holiday with Mrs. Figg to Ron and Hermione. When Harry admitted to them that he had been living less than five hundred metres from a witch for fourteen years and never realized it, Ron laughed at him.  
  
"But it sounds like you had a fun summer when you did find out," said Hermione.  
  
"Yeah, I guess I did." Then Harry told them about Mrs. Figg's mysterious business trip at the end of his visit. "Maybe she's going to see Dumbledore at the school."  
  
"Maybe she's going on an espionage mission for our side," Ron suggested excitedly.  
  
Hermione offered no ideas but looked thoughtful. Then she said brightly, "Show us what else you got for your birthday."  
  
They played with the Hippogriff figurine (towards whom Hedwig was very hostile), the fake wands, and the enchanted wristwatch, and studied the Pensieve's thick instruction manual together for a while. The conversation eventually returned to more serious topics, specifically Voldemort and the imminent war.  
  
"Has your scar been hurting a lot?" Ron asked Harry with concern.  
  
Harry nodded. "All summer long. And I've been having nightmares."  
  
"What kind of nightmares?" asked Hermione. Her voice was slightly higher than normal, and Harry knew that she was as scared of Voldemort as he was.  
  
"Explicit ones," said Harry carefully. "Sometimes a bit gory. People dying and so on."  
  
"You can tell us about them if it makes you feel better," said Ron, but in a tone that implied that he really didn't want to hear about Harry's gruesome visions. Ron had a look of immense relief on his face when Harry declined.  
  
"You don't really think he would come back to attack you, do you?" Ron asked Harry.  
  
"Of course I do," said Harry. "Why else d'you suppose I've been dreaming every night about people dying, about myself dying? Of course I think he'll come back to finish the job."  
  
"No, Harry," said Hermione suddenly. "I don't think you need to worry much."  
  
Ron and Harry stared at her. Then Ron began carefully, "Hermione, maybe you didn't understand what we're talking about. We're talking about You- Know-Who, remember?"  
  
"I know, Ron," said Hermione impatiently. "I mean what I say. Do you honestly think that now You-Know-Who -"  
  
"Just call him Voldemort," interrupted Harry crossly. "I'm sick of hearing people call him You-Know-Who and He Who Must Not Be Named and so on."  
  
"Fine," said Hermione obligingly. "But do you genuinely believe that now that Voldemort has his body back, he's going to bother himself with hunting after a fifteen-year-old boy who no longer poses him any threat? I doubt it very much, Harry."  
  
Harry and Ron looked at each other. Harry had to admit, Hermione was making some sense. Of course, none of the three had any way of knowing what Voldemort and the Death Eaters had planned earlier in the Dark Forest.  
  
"Maybe Hermione's right," Harry said slowly. "Voldemort wouldn't really need to kill me, would he?"  
  
"Not unless you got in his way," said Ron, and Harry saw him exchange glances with Hermione.  
  
"I won't," promised Harry. "I'll keep out of danger."  
  
"We'll see that you do," said Hermione, and looked meaningfully at Ron. Harry knew that they would always look out for him, no matter what, just like they had in every year of their friendship. He felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards them.  
  
"What did you do this summer, Hermione?" Ron said nonchalantly. "Neither me nor Harry saw you at all."  
  
"I went to visit my dad's cousins in Canada. They're wheat farmers."  
  
"You didn't go travelling on the Continent?" said Ron very casually.  
  
Hermione looked at him warily. "No, I spent a month in North America and then came back here. why, Ron?"  
  
"No reason," Ron said.  
  
Around quarter to twelve the door slid open and a kindly witch asked, "Anything off the cart, dears?"  
  
Harry leapt to his feet. "Yes please! I'm starving."  
  
Ron started to get up, too, but when Harry waved his hand and told him that he could get the food himself, Ron obediently settled back into his seat, and Harry went out alone into the corridor to the candy cart, closing the door behind him.  
  
While Harry was choosing his sweets, he heard someone calling his name, and looked down the hall to find Neville Longbottom, an accident-prone acquaintance, excitedly running towards him. Unfortunately, a few feet away from Harry, Neville tripped on his own feet and smashed into the cart, which tipped over onto the carpeted floor, spilling candy everywhere.  
  
"Oops," said Neville, looking embarrassed.  
  
The witch had gone back to the front to ask the train conductor if he had change for Harry's gold Galleons, so Harry and Neville picked up all the sweets and tried to arrange them on the cart as they had been before. When the witch returned with Harry's change, he said good-bye to her and Neville, took up his food, and opened the door.  
  
A bizarre scene met his eyes. Hermione and Ron were still seated across from each other. Hermione sat gazing out the window. The only indication of anything amiss was that her cheeks were flushed slightly pink; but Ron was staring at the floor and doing a good impression of a redheaded tomato. He was blushing red from the tips of his ears to the roots of his hair.  
  
"What happened?" asked Harry, looking between them.  
  
"Nothing," mumbled Ron.  
  
Harry took in the crimson complexion and his trembling hands and deduced the opposite. He turned to Hermione suspiciously. "You didn't hex him, did you?"  
  
Hermione glanced at Ron, and at the same moment Ron snuck a peek at her. When their eyes met briefly they both hastily looked away. "No, I didn't hex him," Hermione said to the floor.  
  
Harry wasn't sure what had gone on while he was out in the hallway, but he was confident they would tell him sometime, so he decided to ignore it. He dumped the sweets on the cushion next to Ron and said, "Then let's eat!"  
  
Throughout the afternoon many of their friends dropped in to visit them and say hello. Several stayed to share the candy. By late afternoon the trio had picked up Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown, Neville Longbottom, Parvati Patil, and Ginny Weasley. They made short work of the treats and it was not long before every candy wrapper was empty and everyone had a stomachache. Then they sat and talked about what surprises might await them at the school.  
  
"D'you think Hagrid's back from conferring with the giants?" Ron wondered.  
  
"I hope he's back because he's our friend," said Hermione slowly, "but I'm not sure if I want to learn any more about Blast-Ended Skrewts in Care of Magical Creatures."  
  
"Who do you think he'd be replaced by if he'd not back by now?" asked Ginny.  
  
"There're loads of good teachers out there," said Lavender dismissively.  
  
"What about Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Parvati said. "Who's going to teach a jinxed class?"  
  
"It's not jinxed," said Hermione impatiently. "It must be just a coincidence that no one's been able to teach it for more than a year."  
  
The others looked skeptical. Then Ron gasped. "You don't think it might be Snape, do you? After all, he's been after the job for years."  
  
The group lapsed into dismayed silence. Then Harry sighed. "Well, we'll see when we get there." Then he had to break up a fight between Hedwig and the Hippogriff figurine.  
  
The evening drew nearer. The landscape outside became darker and wilder. The compartment cleared out until only Ron and Harry were left because Hermione had gone to Ginny's compartment. They changed into their Hogwarts robes. Harry found his curiosity getting the better of himself, and asked Ron what had gone on while he'd been out In the corridor getting sweets.  
  
Ron shook his head. "I can't tell you," he said, and continued to repeat it despite continual assurances from Harry that he wouldn't tell another living soul. "It's nothing."  
  
Harry was frustrated. He and Ron rarely, if ever, kept secrets from each other. "If it's nothing, why can't you tell me?" he demanded.  
  
Ron turned pink and seemed not to be able to find an answer. Luckily for Ron, at that moment the train began to slow down, and he was saved further questioning from Harry because they were busy getting their luggage.  
  
The evening sky was dark and the air was cool and dry. A prefect told them to leave their luggage on the train, so they got into a horseless carriage without their trunks, but Harry kept his Hippogriff action figure, which dozed in his pocket. Hermione and Neville climbed into Harry and Ron's carriage, and Harry noticed that Ron would not meet Hermione's eyes. Or was it the other way around? In any case, only he and Neville were keeping up the conversation; Ron and Hermione seemed subdued.  
  
Their carriage stopped at the front of the school. To get to the Great Hall, the students pass through the Entrance Hall. Theirs was the last carriage in the line. Ron, Hermione and Neville disembarked, but as Harry moved to the door he carelessly put his hand to his pocket and felt nothing. Harry looked around, but saw nothing on the seats, so dropped to his knees to peer under the seats. As he ran his hand over the carpet in the dark, he heard voices outside the carriage, where his friends were waiting for him.  
  
"Why, the Weasel, the Mudblood, and the Klutz," came a familiar snobby drawl. "All that's missing is Scarhead, and you could go form your own freak show."  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Hermione.  
  
"Ah, a rebuke from the dirtiest blood of the group," gasped Malfoy in mock pain. "I think I'll have to go cry my eyes out now."  
  
"No one cares what you think!" shouted Ron. "Get out of here, you foul, stinking-" and he ranted off a list of profanities Harry knew Fred and George must have taught him.  
  
"Careful, Weasel," said Malfoy warningly, "or I might have to curse those big ears off. I learned a lot of good curses over the summer from my father and his friends."  
  
Harry caught the reference to Lucius Malfoy and his gang, whom Harry knew to be Death Eaters, the evil followers of Voldemort. Hermione chose to ignore the threat. "We know a few good hexes too, Malfoy," she shot back, adding with feigned friendliness, "Oh, Goyle, I see you've got rid of those tentacles you had all over your ugly face at the end of last year. And Malfoy, consider yourself lucky that we're not going to hex you again right now, because you certainly wouldn't come out of it unscathed."  
  
As he listened, Harry was still searching for his Hippogriff figurine. When he felt a small nip at the end of his finger, he knew he'd found his action figure, but as he drew the toy out from under the seats, his hand brushed something else. He pulled it out and studied it, then put it and the Hippogriff in his pocket. Then he got to his feet and stood by the doorway, still out of everyone's view.  
  
"Maybe I'll have a scar like Potter then, and I can get my own pathetic little fan club!" Malfoy was retorting.  
  
"You shut up about Harry, you nasty git!" roared Ron.  
  
"Don't talk to Draco like that!" said Crabbe.  
  
"Watch it, or we might curse you!" quavered Neville.  
  
"Why don't you try it right now, Longbottom, you could use the practise!" jeered Malfoy.  
  
"Hex him, Neville!" Hermione screamed.  
  
"Don't even dare!" ordered Goyle.  
  
"Stop it," said Harry quietly. He'd moved into the doorway, and stood surveying the group with a frosty expression. All activity halted. Ron's face was scarlet with rage. Malfoy stood across from him, sheet-white and furious. Neville's wand was half-raised. Hermione's was pointed at Crabbe. Goyle's hands were stretched towards Neville's neck. They stood immobile in their peculiar tableau, staring at Harry in shock. Harry quietly stepped out of the carriage. Malfoy quickly recovered his usual arrogant poise.  
  
"Well, here's The Scar," he leered scornfully, "the leader of the freaks."  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry coldly, turning to face the pale, pointy- faced boy. "I do not want to listen to your slimy voice or see your hideous face, ever again. Now get out of my way."  
  
Malfoy did not move. "I don't take orders from Muggle-loving lunatics," he snarled.  
  
"Get out of my way or I'll hex you."  
  
"Do your worst."  
  
They stood glowering at each other silently for a second. Then, like lightning, they both reached for their wands at the same time. Harry had his wand out first, but then-  
  
"Potter! Threatening the other students?" Severus Snape, the Potions master, was moving towards them. "Put that wand away before I give you a detention! Wouldn't your fan club be disappointed, eh Potter? A detention even before the start of term?"  
  
"But sir, Malfoy was-"  
  
"Mr. Weasley, I do not care to hear your twisted version of events. I know what I'm seeing. Now cease harassing my students and get inside."  
  
Harry, Ron, Neville and Hermione quietly marched to the school. Behind him Harry heard Malfoy simpering to Snape. "Oh, thank you sir, I thought he was going to try to hex me, when I was completely unarmed. Cowardly, isn't he? How are you, Professor, did you get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job? Father recommended you, he knows how gifted you are."  
  
Harry watched Ron slowly turning green with revulsion. He strained to hear Snape's answer.  
  
"Unfortunately, I was bypassed for the position once again, Malfoy."  
  
Harry and his friends all sighed in relief.  
  
"That's terrible, sir!" exclaimed Malfoy. "Who is the new teacher then?"  
  
"I'm afraid I have not been informed as of yet," said Snape. "But I'm sure he or she is reasonably competent." He said this in a manner which conveyed that he was certain the exact opposite was true.  
  
The four Gryffindors hurried into the Entrance Hall. "Did you hear that?" squealed Hermione. "He's not teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!"  
  
Neville looked ready to faint with excitement, because Snape always seemed to particularly single him out. "I'm so happy, I could start turning cartwheels right here! But then I'd get handprints on the floor, and Filch'd be after my skin."  
  
"Speaking of Filch," said Ron, frowning, "there's Mrs. Norris and- Hey! Look Harry, Mrs. Norris has got a friend!"  
  
Harry looked, and sure enough, the caretaker Argus Filch's nasty cat was accompanied by another creature. But, Harry realized, the new animal looked rather familiar.  
  
"Oh, no," sighed Hermione. "Isn't that just what we need? Another cat to spy on us."  
  
"That's no cat," said Harry, staring disbelievingly at the creature's soft grey speckled fur. The animal jumped at the sound of his voice, and with an excited purr, rushed to nuzzle his shins. Harry bent and picked it up.  
  
"Tibbles?" he whispered incredulously. "Tibbles II? What are you doing here? You can't be here." A thought struck him. "Unless-"  
  
"Hello, Potter," said a voice behind them. All four spun around to find Mrs. Figg, with four cats swarming round her feet. Tibbles II instantly moved to join its kin.  
  
"You're not Mrs. Figg, are you?" stammered Ron.  
  
"It's Professor Figg now, thank you," said Mrs. Figg composedly. "I'm a new teacher. Now go on into the Great Hall, the Sorting is starting."  
  
Professor Figg ushered them into the Great Hall, where four long tables stood, and the four fifth-years moved directly to the table on the far left, over which hung scarlet and gold banners bearing the Gryffindor crest. The group seated themselves among their fellow fifth-year Gryffindors and Harry looked about with interest. Between the two middle tables was an assembly of first-year students, all of whom looked terrified of the Sorting test awaiting them. Some of them were gazing up at the ceiling, which was bewitched to look like the sky outside. The ceiling now opened up into a clear, cloudless night sky, with a few faint stars twinkling in the sunset. 


	12. The Sorting

At the farthest end of the Great Hall was another long table, perpendicular to the four house tables. There, beneath a huge Hogwarts crest, sat all the teachers, and this was the table at which Professor Figg sat down. Harry squinted, and saw Professor Figg seat herself between Professor Flitwick and Professor Vector. There was a wide gap on Professor Vector's other side, where Hagrid usually sat. Harry was disappointed that Hagrid wasn't back yet from negotiations with the giants of Europe, a journey which the half-giant had undertaken at the beginning of the summer. At the middle of the table were Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Snape, and an empty chair. The empty chair belonged to Professor Minerva McGonagall, who suddenly smiled at the head table. Harry saw Professor Figg wave excitedly at Professor McGonagall. He also noticed that both women wore golden rings on their right little fingers, an adornment Harry had never seen before.  
  
Professor McGonagall presently stood before the students, by a three-legged stool on top of which was positioned a patched, frayed pointed hat. The Great Hall rang with students' applause, which was dying down.  
  
"Oh, I think we've missed the Sorting Hat's song," said Hermione, disappointed.  
  
"But luckily Snape didn't make us miss the Sorting," said Ron happily.  
  
Harry observed that the cluster of first-years looked like a giant burden had been taken off their backs. He smiled, thinking of his his and Ron's own anxiety at their Sorting. Harry had been afraid that the Sorting Hat would reject him outright, and that he would have to go back home to Privet Drive. I thought home meant Privet Drive, thought Harry. How stupid. This is my home, my real place. Hogwarts and the wizarding world is where I belong.  
  
Professor McGonagall unrolled a long parchment. "When I call your name, you will come up and put on the hat." She began reading the names of the first- years.  
  
"Abbott, Christopher!" A short blond boy hurried up to the stool and pulled the Hat onto his head, causing his ears to stick out.  
  
"Hufflepuff!" shouted the Hat, and the Hufflepuff table burst out in applause. The short boy took off the Hat and ran to join the Hufflepuff house.  
  
"Banter, Hazel!" A plump girl came forward and put on the Hat.  
  
"Ravenclaw!" cried the Hat, and the girl went to the raucous table across the aisle from Hufflepuff.  
  
"Burke, Algernon!" Harry applauded distractedly as a thin boy became the first Gryffindor. His mind was spinning with all the surprises of the day. Hagrid still away somewhere in northern Europe. Neville almost trying to fight off both of Malfoy's mastiff-like cronies at once. Mrs. Figg becoming Professor Figg. Ron and Hermione keeping a secret from him, and then Hermione keeping another secret which he had found on the floor by his Hippogriff toy.  
  
"Diggle, Darius!" A boy wearing a silk top hat instead of the standard pointed wizard's hat walked up to the front. Vaguely Harry thought that the top hat reminded him of someone he'd met before.  
  
"Gryffindor!"  
  
Two of three Giffard triplets became Ravenclaws, and the third one became a Gryffindor. Harry thought it was distinctly unfair of the Hat to sort them so unevenly into different houses, because the two Ravenclaws might gang up on the Gryffindor, but then he recalled Albus Dumbledore saying that each student chose their house for themselves; the Hat merely repeated their preference aloud. During Harry's musings, the Hat sorted a striking raven- haired girl named "Goyle, Victoria" into Slytherin; and when Harry watched her scurry to the far table and noticed Malfoy's burly thug Gregory Goyle cheering especially loudly, he realized with a jolt that they must be siblings.  
  
Harry nudged Ron. "Ron, look at that girl. I didn't know Goyle had a sister."  
  
Ron looked. "What? Goyle's sister? That can't be right. Fairly good- looking, isn't she? I don't see any resemblance between the two."  
  
"My gran said there are a bunch of Goyles," said Neville. "Four, I think. Two boys and two girls. Gregory Goyle is the oldest."  
  
"Really?" said Ron, squinting at Gregory Goyle. "Well, our Goyle must've missed out on the genes for good looks. Put long hair on him and he'd easily pass for a hag."  
  
Harry drifted into his own thoughts at that point in the conversation and was considering confronting Hermione when the sound of tittering invaded his thoughts.  
  
Harry looked around, annoyed, at Lavender Brown, the source of the giggling, but she missed his aggravation because she was pointing at one of the first-years.  
  
"Look, Harry!" exclaimed Parvati, pointing. "It's like you've got a twin!"  
  
Harry looked. Among the cluster of first-year students stood one tall, thin boy with a shock of messy, jet-black hair. He had bright green eyes, which peered out from behind thick, round, black-rimmed glasses. The only difference between the first-year and Harry was that the first-year had a rounder face, and Harry was taller and had a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.  
  
Professor McGonagall was still reading names. "Latham, Leonina" became a Slytherin, while "Leake, Timothy" joined the Ravenclaws. Then Professor McGonagall called "McCabe, Marcus!" and Harry's double moved forward. Immediately the Great Hall broke out into a buzz as everyone tried to figure out whether the real Harry did have a twin or not.  
  
On Ron's other side at the Gryffindor table, Dean Thomas turned around and grinned at Harry. "Does he remind you of anyone, Harry?" he whispered. Harry pulled a grimace and turned back to watch "McCabe, Marcus" pull the Sorting Hat down over his ears.  
  
After a few moments the Hat shouted, "Gryffindor!" and everyone clapped. McCabe hopped enthusiastically off the stool and made his way to the Gryffindor table.  
  
Harry frowned. "I wonder if he does mean to copy me."  
  
Ron snorted. "You really think those glasses are a coincidence?"  
  
"Swinburne, Octavia!"  
  
"Hufflepuff!"  
  
"Probably another one of your fans, Harry," remarked Neville. "Like Colin Creevey and his brother Dennis, or like Ron's sister Ginny."  
  
Harry scowled at Neville. Fortunately for Ginny, she was sitting far down the table and didn't hear Neville, because she would inevitably turn crimson at any mention of Harry's name.  
  
Professor McGonagall was just finishing up the Sorting with "Warbeck, Eustace" ("Ravenclaw!") and "Zabini, Catriona" ("Slytherin!") and then Professor Dumbledore stood up to make his start-of-term announcements.  
  
"Good evening," he began. "Welcome to a fresh new year at Hogwarts! I know you must all be famished, so I will keep my remarks brief.  
  
"To my far left you will find a new face among the teachers. Professor Figg has been in semiretirement for several years, but she is now returning to the Hogwarts staff as our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I trust you will make her feel welcome." There was a polite smattering of applause. Harry was surprised to see that Snape looked astounded rather than angry as he discovered the identity of the person who had bested him for the position.  
  
"My next announcement also concerns the staff. Rubeus Hagrid, who is groundskeeper of Hogwarts and also teaches Care of Magical Creatures, is away on an important mission. He will return by next week's end, but until then, there will be no Care of Magical Creatures classes. You may use your extra time to finish your homework from other classes, or you may frolic about the grounds at your leisure. However, I must remind you that the Dark Forest is still forbidden to everyone.  
  
"I would now like to comment on the students of authority at the school. We have a new Head Boy and Head Girl. Will those two stand up?" A Gryffindor girl and a Ravenclaw boy stood up and bowed to the polite applause.  
  
"And I would also like to remind you of our new league of prefects. Prefects, don't worry about standing up, there are so many of you this year. But first-years, if you find yourself in need of guidance, seek out these badge-wearing students, or a teacher, or myself, and we will do our best to help you.  
  
"I believe this concludes my announcements. Let the feast begin!"  
  
At Dumbledore's cue, the golden dishes suddenly filled with food. The tables sagged visibly. Everyone gasped in awe, then dug in. Harry stuffed himself with Yorkshire pudding, roast beef, baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, mincemeat pie, peas, carrots, steak, rolls, and every other delicious food imaginable. As they devoured the extensive spread, the Gryffindors discussed Dumbledore's announcements.  
  
"When do you suppose Hagrid'll be back?" Ron asked Harry.  
  
Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore said by the end of next week, but he could be here earlier. Maybe he'll get back this weekend and Care of Magical Creatures will start again next Monday."  
  
Hermione shuddered. "I've just realized. Hagrid's been in Northern Europe, hasn't he? That probably means he's found a whole new load of dangerous animals to bring back and teach us about!" The whole group groaned.  
  
"Who's that new teacher, Figg?" asked Seamus, peering at Professor Figg, who was daintily spearing a Brussel sprout. "What do think 'semiretirement' means?"  
  
"It probably means she took a couple years off from teaching," said Dean.  
  
"She looks about McGonagall's age," said Ron, scrutinizing Professor Figg. "I wonder if they know each other."  
  
"They do," said Harry, "I saw them waving at each other. Look, now look at that."  
  
Professor McGonagall had switched places with Professor Flitwick so that she could sit with Professor Figg. The two women were conversing animatedly.  
  
"Wasn't Professor McGonagall the Head Girl when she came to school here?" Lavender Brown wondered. "Or maybe she was a prefect. I heard Blaise Zabini talking about it once."  
  
"Why do you suppose there are so many prefects this year?" asked Neville.  
  
"Extra security, I'll bet," said Parvati Patil knowingly. "After what happened last year, they're not taking any chances."  
  
As she spoke, Harry busied himself staring into his plate, but he could feel all of their eyes on him. He cleared his throat and raised his head, and they all hastily looked away.  
  
"I wonder what you have to do to become a prefect," said Lavender Brown, nibbling thoughtfully on a dinner roll.  
  
"Have really good grades is part of it, I'll bet," said Dean. "And you'd need a clean record. Which means basically all of us except Lavender and Parvati are out of the running."  
  
"You might not necessarily need a clean record," objected Ron. "That Slytherin prefect over at the end has had about eighty detentions since he got here six years ago. But he does have really high marks, Fred told me."  
  
Harry was hardly listening to Ron. At the first mention of prefects, he had started watching Hermione. Now, as Ron finished talking, she discreetly put her hand into the pocket of her robes, then froze. Panic slowly set in on her face, and she fumbled through all of the pockets in her robes. She desisted in her search and sat still for a moment, seemingly thinking, then whispered, "Oh!" and half-rose, interrupting Seamus in mid-sentence.  
  
"Where're you going, 'Er-my-knee?" asked Ron through his mashed potatoes.  
  
"Oh," said Hermione, looking like she was wracking her brain for an answer, "I think I lost something- that is, I might have forgotten something on the train- or maybe the carriage- or I might have dropped, erm, something outside."  
  
"What is it?" inquired Lavender, starting to get to her feet. "We'll help you look."  
  
"No, no," said Hermione hurriedly, "I can find it."  
  
"Stay here, Lavender. I'll go with Hermione," said Harry.  
  
"No, Harry, sit down-" began Hermione, but Harry shot her a warning look and she stopped, confused.  
  
"Let's go look in the Entrance Hall," said Harry. "We'll be back in a couple minutes," he added to the rest of the group, who were not listening, Ron and Dean having restarted their long-standing argument about Quidditch versus Muggle football.  
  
Harry and Hermione went out into the Entrance Hall. When they were safely out of the Gryffindor table's view, Harry pulled Hermione into a corner. She looked at him blankly.  
  
"Harry, what were you glaring at me for? I have to go look for my, ah, my- "  
  
"Looking for this?" asked Harry in a low voice, pulling out the prefect badge that he had found by his Hippogriff figurine. It had Hermione Granger engraved on the back. Her eyes widened and she snatched it from his hand.  
  
"Where did you find this?"  
  
"It must have fallen out of your pocket in the carriage. I found it under the seats. Hermione, why didn't you tell us you were a prefect?"  
  
Hermione stared at the floor. "I didn't know how you would react."  
  
Harry looked at her curiously. "Who exactly do you mean by 'you', Hermione? Is there any certain person whom you're worried about pleasing?"  
  
"No," Hermione said, too quickly. "But I didn't know what all of you would say."  
  
"You're our best friend, Hermione. We already know how smart and responsible you are. You being a prefect doesn't make a difference to me. And Ron will probably be happy that he can use the prefects' bathroom now."  
  
Hermione's head snapped up at his last words. "No he can't! That bathroom's for prefects only, he has to use his own one! It's against the rules!"  
  
Harry grinned. "See? You're obviously perfect for the job. Come on, we can tell everyone else now." He started to move towards the Great Hall's double doors, and after an uncertain pause, Hermione followed him.  
  
"Hermione," Harry said as they walked back to their table, "will you and Ron ever tell me what happened on the train?"  
  
"Nothing happened," said Hermione immediately, but Harry distinctly noticed her face flush. He sighed, too exasperated to continue his inquiries, and resettled himself in his seat.  
  
"Find what you were looking for, Hermione?" asked Seamus.  
  
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "Yes." She pinned on her prefect badge, and everyone gaped at her.  
  
"Wow Hermione," gushed Parvati, "I didn't know you were a prefect!"  
  
Hermione smiled at her. Then her expression turned stern and she looked around the table. "But that doesn't mean I can overlook your breaking the rules at all, you know."  
  
"Speaking of breaking the rules," began Ron, and launched into a side- splitting story about the time his brothers Fred and George had hidden fireworks in Mrs. Norris' litterbox.  
  
After the dinner foods had disappeared, mouth-watering desserts materialized in their place, and everyone who had been declaring how full they were suddenly found more room in their stomachs for apple pies, chocolate cakes, huge blocks of ice cream in every flavour imaginable, strawberry shortcake, cheesecake, and much more. The students pounced on the delectable desserts and soon those were gone, too.  
  
"Say," Dean Thomas said through a mouthful of cheesecake, "that new professor-is her name Arabella Figg?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, surprised. "How did you know?"  
  
"I got her card in my Chocolate Frog on the train." Dean pulled a stack of cards from his pocket. "Famous witches and wizards, you know. Here it is."  
  
"Can I see?" Harry asked, abandoning his apple pie. He took the card from Dean and studied it. "Arabella Figg" was printed over a picture of a severe-looking Mrs. Figg, who nodded quickly at Harry before wandering out of the frame. The biography read:  
  
"Arabella Figg: One of Britain's most illustrious Aurors since leaving school, Figg studied Defence Against the Dark Arts under the tutelage of the legendary Auror Alastor Moody. After an impressive ten-year career hunting evil wizards that earned her the Order of Merlin, Second Class, Arabella became the Potions mistress at Hogwarts. Her hobbies include photography and taking care of her numerous cats."  
  
"An Auror," Harry said to himself, stunned. "It can't be!" After getting Dean's permission, he pocketed the card.  
  
After every morsel of food had disappeared, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. "I trust we all ate well?" he asked, and there were murmurs of assent all around the Great Hall. Dumbledore smiled. "Before leaving for your dormitories, I believe we have a tradition to uphold, so let's sing the Hogwarts song. Pick your favourite tune and off we go!" A flick of his wand released a golden thread, which unfurled into the words of the school song. After the students had finished, all at different times, Dumbledore dabbed at his eyes and sighed. "Ah, music, the truest magic of any known to mankind. You may now go to your living quarters. I bid you good night."  
  
Hermione stood and called out over the table, "First years, follow me!" She led the exhausted-looking first year students out of the Great Hall.  
  
The Gryffindors walked out after them, talking and laughing, but Harry and Ron lagged behind. They climbed the stairs behind the rest of their friends.  
  
"Hermione's really good at this job, isn't she?" Harry remarked, looking up the stairs at their friend, who was directing the first-years down a long hallway lined with suits of armour bewitched to salute passerby.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," mumbled Ron. His gaze was on his feet.  
  
"You know, Ron," said Harry prudently, feeling that this could be the appropriate moment to pursue his investigations, "if she did hex you on the train, you don't have to be ashamed about it. Even if she is a girl, she's a lot smarter than both of us-"  
  
"She didn't hex me," Ron said, tight-lipped. "Nothing happened, Harry."  
  
"Then why won't anyone tell me about it?" demanded Harry, frustrated. This had obviously been the wrong time to bring up the topic.  
  
"Drop it, Harry," said Ron crossly. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
So Harry was quiet, and they trudged the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower in silence.  
  
"Password?" asked the Fat Lady when they got to the portrait hole after everyone else had gone in.  
  
"What's the password?" Harry asked Ron. Ron's answer was a blank look.  
  
Then the portrait swung open from the inside and Hermione peered out at them. "Come on, I was wondering where two'd got to. Password's snickerdoodle, by the way."  
  
Harry and Ron climbed inside and Harry felt a wave of relief sweep him. Home, he thought, taking in the familiar sights of the Gryffindor common room.  
  
"Are you tired?" asked Ron, and Harry nodded. "Then let's just go straight to our room. I'm dying to go to sleep."  
  
After saying good-night to Hermione, Harry and Ron skirted the crowd of Gryffindors who were sitting on the squashy couches and in the overstuffed armchairs by the huge fireplace and chatting, and proceeded directly up another flight of stone steps to the fifth-year boys' dormitory. Harry halted in the doorway and looked round at the cozy four-poster beds with their heavy scarlet curtains, and a wide grin spread across his face.  
  
"I missed this room a lot during the summer," he said aloud. "More than ever before, I wanted to be back here. You understand, don't you Ron?"  
  
He turned to consult Ron, but the other boy had already crawled into his four-poster and fallen asleep with his clothes on. Harry chuckled. He quietly changed into his pajamas and clambered into his own bed, and almost immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 


	13. The First Day of Classes

At breakfast all the students received their term timetables. Harry, not surprisingly, had all the same courses as Ron, but Hermione had been selected to join several advanced classes. Harry and Ron examined her timetable in disbelief.  
  
"Intermediate Ancient Runes?" Ron read incredulously. "Complicated Arithmancy? Complex Charms? Advanced Transfiguration Techniques? Hermione, how are you going to do all this work? Harry, look at this. Supplementary Studies of Poisonous Plants! Hermione, did you read this at all? Complex Charms is for sixth years! You're taking sixth-year classes!"  
  
"And?" Hermione was calmly buttering her toast. "What's wrong with that?"  
  
"Well, for starters, you're only in fifth year," said Harry.  
  
"Yeah, how're you going to keep up with the stuff we haven't learned yet?" challenged Ron.  
  
"Unless you've got hold of some new gadget that lets you advance time and learn ahead or something," said Harry. Ron looked puzzled. "Well, we can't put it past her. Don't you remember the fiasco with that Time-Turner?"  
  
Ron groaned. "I'm almost glad I missed out on the experience of being sucked back three hours into the past. But seriously Hermione, won't you be loaded down with assignments all the time? You'll probably have too much work to even talk with us-"  
  
"And I'll be too busy to get involved in your ridiculous antics," interjected Hermione. "I'm tired of getting you two out of scrapes all the time."  
  
Just then, a hundred post owls swooped into the Great Hall, searching for the addressees and depositing letters and parcels in the appropriate laps. Harry wasn't expecting anything because Hedwig was asleep in the Hogwarts Owlery, but Hermione received her copy of the Daily Prophet, the newspaper of wizarding England to which she had a subscription. Hermione unfolded the paper and read the front page headline.  
  
"They've caught another Death Eater just outside London," she reported, holding the newspaper out to Harry. "A witch named Eleanor Lovegood."  
  
Ron choked while eating and almost swallowed his fork. He snatched the paper out of Harry's hand. "Did you say Eleanor Lovegood? You- you can't be serious!"  
  
"You know her?"  
  
Ron nodded frantically as he scanned the front page article. "The Lovegood family lives in Ottery St. Catchpole. They're family friends. Eleanor Lovegood was this really nice witch who used to send me presents for my birthday. Last year she sent me a box of Chocolate Frogs." He gasped and clutched at his stomach. "And I ate them!"  
  
"Ron, if there was poison in them you would have felt its effects by now," Harry said.  
  
Ron still looked distraught. "I can't believe it. Eleanor Lovegood! I never thought. She used to be really kind and generous. It's so weird that someone so good could suddenly change sides."  
  
"Could I have my paper back?" Hermione gently prised the newspaper out of Ron's hand. "I see Rita Skeeter's still frightened that I'll tell on her."  
  
"So she's stopped writing?" Harry asked.  
  
"Not entirely. She's being given little assignments, she's not writing that sensationalist rubbish like last year. But I think she's rather lost her spark. This article she wrote on the Weird Sisters concert in Southampton is so boring my eyes could fall out while I'm reading it."  
  
"Perhaps she can't write well unless she's ruining people," Ron said. He frowned. "But one day that madwoman'll be back, writing that Harry should be put in St. Mungo's and my dad's muddling up the entire Ministry and inventing giant overblown conspiracy theories from someone saying that the weather's a bit warm."  
  
Harry was only half listening to Ron's ranting. He was looking across the table because Hermione had the Daily Prophet open and he could read the article about Eleanor Lovegood on the front page of the Daily Prophet. It said that under forcible questioning by Ministry officials (and under the influence of Veritaserum, Harry supposed), Lovegood had confessed to being a Voldemort supporter since pre-Harry Potter days, and having participated in the demonstration at the Quidditch World Cup the year before. She had denied any involvement in the murder of three prominent members of the Bones family the year before Harry's birth, but had made verifiable statements exonerating the wizard Audley Dunstan from such allegations, and implicating the Lestranges, a married couple. Lovegood claimed that Dunstan, who was currently serving a life sentence for the use of the killing curse on Lewella Bones, had been framed by the real murderer, Derrick Lestrange. It was declared by Lovegood that the murders of the other two, which had been charged to Death Eater Halvard Travers, were actually committed by Maldora Lestrange in a cover-up operation. Travers and the Lestranges were presently in Azkaban for the known murders of many other people, magic and non-magic, and would never leave the fortress' walls; but if the allegations were proven true, Dunstan's name could be cleared as Lewella Bones' murder was his only charge. Dunstan's family had convinced the Ministry to hold a re-trial, which was scheduled for mid- November.  
  
An idea was forming in Harry's head as he read the comments of Dunstan's hopeful wife, who was leading the movement for Dunstan's release. He turned to Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Did you read this article?" Harry asked them.  
  
"Only a bit," Hermione said. "I read that Dumbledore was present at the interview."  
  
"I read that Eleanor Lovegood has been a Death Eater for over fifteen years," said Ron. "And it said that in the middle of the interrogation she had a fit and started screaming that all Muggle-lovers would one day get their comeuppance from her master, the greatest wizard the world has known." He shivered.  
  
"I read," Harry said, "that Eleanor Lovegood's statements are going to clear the name of Audley Dunstan, who was falsely accused of murder." He lowered his voice. "Don't you see? The same thing could happen for Sirius Black! If we found someone who could testify that Wormtail was a Death Eater and that he staged the whole thing to get Sirius in Azkaban, we could clear Sirius' name!"  
  
Ron's eyes were wide. "Do you think we could really find someone who would do that?"  
  
Harry was thinking. "Well, there were about two or three dozen Death Eaters last year with Voldemort," he said, ignoring Ron's flinching at the name. "I bet at least one of them must know about it."  
  
Hermione looked hopeful and doubtful at the same time. "I do want Sirius to be cleared, Harry, but we can't possibly catch a Death Eater and get him to confess. I know you heard their names, but when are we ever going to come into contact with those people? We can't exactly start a pen-friend correspondence with Lucius Malfoy and ask him. We might as well ask You- Know-Who to high tea and casually slip Veritaserum into his cake or something."  
  
"You don't really think Voldemort'd come back here, do you?" asked Harry  
  
Hermione had seemed very certain of herself on the train, but faced again with the emergent danger she looked indecisive. "Maybe. it's hard to tell. But the Ministry will look out for us, and of course Professor Dumbledore's always here."  
  
Harry looked up to the head table, and the sight of Albus Dumbledore's unmistakable long silver beard provided some comfort. It was nice to have people you could count on.  
  
"What's your first class?" asked Hermione, running her finger down the first column of her timetable.  
  
"Transfiguration," said Harry.  
  
"Fifth-year Transfiguration," Ron added pointedly, looking at Hermione.  
  
"Well, I have Arithmancy first," said Hermione briskly, "But I'll see you at lunch and we can go down to double Potions together."  
  
"Double Potions!" Ron scanned his timetable and grimaced. "Not again!" For the past five years, the Gryffindors had had double Potions classes with the Slytherins of the same year, and since Severus Snape, the Potions Master and head of Slytherin House, inevitably favoured his students, Potions was always unbearable.  
  
"When's our first Defence Against the Dark Arts?" asked Harry. He was curious about when they would get to see Professor Figg in action.  
  
"Wednesday morning," said Hermione. "I have that with you, too."  
  
"It's about the only bloody thing I'm looking forward to in this whole timetable," grumbled Ron. "Hey Harry, is Figg nice? D'you think she'll give us a lot of homework?"  
  
"I hope not," said Harry. "I was starting to like learning Defence Against the Dark Arts."  
  
"Even last year?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Well, until I found out that the teacher was an imposter, bent on killing me," said Harry. "After that my enjoyment in the class went a bit downhill, as you might expect."  
  
After breakfast they parted, Hermione heading towards the east wing of the castle to her Arithmancy class while Ron and Harry went into Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. She began the class by reminding the class that their O.W.L.'s, or Ordinary Wizarding Level standardized exams, would take place at the end of this year, and hinting that the majority of the questions would deal with Transfiguration. She also announced that they might be beginning human Transfiguration this year, and this drew an excited reaction from the students, who hadn't expected to be able to learn human Transfiguration until sixth or seventh year.  
  
Their first task, however, was much simpler: to Transfigure a pocket watch into a grandfather clock, while still keeping the proper time. But Harry and Ron made little progress. By the end of class Harry had only managed to produce a featureless block of wood that ticked, and Ron had had to ask for a new pocket watch because his spell had caused the first one to explode. The best clock belonged to Parvati Patil, who had been able to Transfigure the pocket watch into the form of a grandfather clock, but its face had three extra hours and only one hand, which zipped erratically around the hours and kept switching direction. All the Gryffindors were completely frustrated as they left the Transfiguration room.  
  
"I can't believe this," Harry grumbled. "I practised my spells all summer and all I end up with is an amorphous metronome."  
  
"It looked more like someone stuck a time bomb inside a tree stump," objected Ron.  
  
Dean laughed. "Ron, yours couldn't've been any worse than mine, which sprouted legs and ran out the door."  
  
"At least we weren't as bad as Neville, he accidentally made his a wet sponge-"  
  
"That was lucky, since we had to use the water in the sponge to put out Seamus' watch when it caught fire."  
  
"You might even say it was quick thinking," Neville Longbottom interrupted.  
  
"No Neville, no one would say that. It was just a fluke."  
  
"What have we got next?" Harry asked Ron.  
  
Ron checked his timetable and groaned. "Oh no."  
  
"It's Divination, isn't it?" said Harry.  
  
Ron looked at him wonderingly. "How did you know?"  
  
"Maybe I have the Inner Eye like Trelawney," joked Harry.  
  
"Inner Eye! Ha. Evil Eye is more like it."  
  
"Wonder how many times she'll predict my death today," Harry said peevishly as they began their ascent to the North tower.  
  
"I wager at least twice before ten minutes are up," Ron said.  
  
"Five Knuts says it's three times," Seamus Finnigan said.  
  
"Welcome back to Divination, my young pupils," murmured Professor Trelawney when they entered her classroom seventy-eight stairsteps later. "I trust we all had a good summer? I do hope none of us saw any Grims." Here her eyes strayed to Harry, who determinedly stared at the floor.  
  
"One," muttered Ron under his breath.  
  
"This year we shall advance our studies with the crystal ball and with the stars, and we may begin the branch of Divination called Tarot cartomancy, in which we read our futures in Tarot cards. But the path to the Inner Eye is strewn with the unsuccessful souls of the idle and the indolent. Yes, it takes much diligence and effort to achieve one's inner perception. I foresee a great deal of exertion in the coming months for this class."  
  
Ron sighed. "Just what I wanted."  
  
"But class, the Inner Eye has also divined to me that one of our number may leave us unexpectedly before this school year is done. and perhaps that entity may never return."  
  
Parvati and Lavender gasped, and again Professor Trelawney fixed her gaze on Harry, but he had already heard all these prophesies before, and he simply avoided her eyes.  
  
"Two," hissed Ron, chuckling.  
  
By the end of class Ron's tally of times that Professor Trelawney had prophesized Harry's death had reached nine, and Harry had seen Dean Thomas fall asleep twice, though Professor Trelawney hadn't noticed.  
  
"We should have followed Hermione's lead and dropped Divination," Harry said to Ron as they slid down the ladder from the Divination classroom.  
  
Ron shrugged. "Maybe we will. She did say that someone in the class was going to leave forever. I bet it'll be one of us, ditching the course."  
  
"I hope it's me," said Harry.  
  
"No, I'll get sick of it before you."  
  
"I'm already sick of it."  
  
"But you haven't quit yet."  
  
"Exactly, I haven't quit, yet. But she said I'd be out of there by June."  
  
"Unless you die first. She said that too." 


	14. Harry's Number One Fan

Later that day, as Harry and Ron were sitting down to lunch, Hermione walked in the doors of the Great Hall and hurried straight towards them, a big smile on her face.  
  
"How were your morning classes?" she asked brightly, flinging down her heavy book bag.  
  
"Awful," said Ron, despondently tipping iced pumpkin juice down his throat.  
  
"That's too bad," said Hermione sympathetically. "Mine were lovely, I'm learning so much."  
  
Harry sighed. "Imagine how terrible Potions will be!"  
  
"Don't remind me," groaned Ron.  
  
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"  
  
Harry looked up, and had the sudden dizzying sensation of looking into a living mirror. The first-year who looked almost just like him was standing by an empty chair, looking at them.  
  
"Sorry?" said Ron, staring at the first-year.  
  
"Could- could I sit with you?" the first-year asked nervously.  
  
"Yeah, go ahead," said Harry.  
  
The clone immediately plopped himself down beside Hermione and grinned across at Harry, who smiled uncomfortably back.  
  
"Wow! Harry Potter! Just like in all my books!"  
  
"Erm," was all Harry could say.  
  
"You're my hero, Harry," the first-year said breathlessly. "I really idolize you."  
  
"Is that so."  
  
"I can't believe I'm sitting with Harry Potter!" the first-year gasped, clutching his chest in amazement. "Wild!"  
  
"A fan of Harry's, are you?" said Ron, struggling not to explode with laughter.  
  
"What's your name?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Marcus," said the clone. "Marcus McCabe, I'm really delighted to meet you, Harry, and your great friends."  
  
"Ah, well, yes, hi Marcus."  
  
"Wow, Harry Potter said my name! What's your name?" Marcus continued, looking at Hermione.  
  
"I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Ron Weasley," said Hermione.  
  
"Are all of you prefects?" Marcus asked eagerly, eyeing Hermione's badge.  
  
"No, only Hermione." Hermione went pink.  
  
"Harry's not a prefect?" exclaimed Marcus incredulously. "Why not?"  
  
"Many, many reasons," said Harry wearily. "Too many reasons to explain."  
  
"I can get up a campaign so everyone'll petition for you to become a prefect," suggested Marcus.  
  
"No," said Harry hastily, "I don't really want to be a prefect. It's fine, Marcus, really."  
  
"And anyways," added Ron, "you probably wouldn't get much success if you started lobbying for Harry's canonisation."  
  
"I'm not very popular right now," admitted Harry.  
  
"Why not?" asked Marcus.  
  
Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "There was a bit of an incident last year-" began Harry.  
  
"Oh, I know all about that," interrupted Marcus. "That's where people thought you killed that boy, Cedric Diggory, right?"  
  
"Marcus!" Hermione and Ron looked horrified. Their eyes darted to Harry, who was stunned though not terribly angry.  
  
"Well it's obvious he didn't do it, isn't it?" Marcus was practical. "I mean, Harry couldn't kill somebody."  
  
The other three were still taken aback. Few people ever talked about what had happened last year, and never with such blunt words, and especially never right in front of Harry.  
  
Marcus didn't seem to notice their shock. He continued to chat on, unconcerned.  
  
"But really, I think it would be great for Harry to be a prefect, right? He's excellent for the job. He's smart, and brave, and courageous, and nonchalant, and-"  
  
"I think your opinion might be a trifle biased in Harry's favour, considering that you're probably the president of the Harry Potter fan club," commented Ron.  
  
Marcus' eyes lit up, but Harry quickly jumped in. "No, Marcus, there's really no such thing, and I would rather you didn't start one."  
  
"Oh." Marcus appeared disappointed that he did not to have Harry's endorsement. "Well, I'd better get going, anyways." He consulted his timetable and brightened. "Oh, I don't want to miss Herbology, it sounds so interesting! Yes, the, ah, study of magical, ah, plants, and the, ah." He paused. "Well actually, I don't seem to know where the greenhouses are."  
  
Hermione pointed Marcus in the right direction. When he had finally gone, Ron burst out laughing.  
  
"You'd better pray he doesn't meet Ginny and the Creeveys," he gasped through his laughter. "They'll all be lynched for trying to start a real Harry Potter fan club."  
  
Hermione looked disapprovingly at Ron. "It's nice he thinks he has a hero."  
  
"But why me," groaned Harry, "why me?" 


	15. Potions Class

Severus Snape was a tall, imposing man with sharp features. His hair was long and black, and he had a long hook-nose. It was down the end of this nose that he glared at Harry at the very beginning of Potions that afternoon.  
  
"Well, Mr. Potter," he said softly, "back for another year? I hope you acquired more discipline over the summer, because this year will be especially challenging."  
  
"I'll manage," responded Harry, and he knew he could. Mrs. Figg had taught him a lot of Potions secrets over the summer and he felt ready for anything Snape could throw at him.  
  
Snape's lip curled into a sneer, and then he was turning back to the class with a swish of his blakc robes. "This year you will learn several very complex potions. The Ergot Potion. The Polyjuice Potion. The Ramphoryhnchus Brew and its antidote, Rosicrucian Remedy."  
  
As he listened to Snape, Harry felt his confidence growing. He knew how to make the Ramphorynchus Brew and Rosicrucian Remedy from the summer, and he, Ron and Hermione had made Polyjuice Potions in their second year. The Ergot Potion he had never actually attempted, but he knew what it was used for and how to make it. Perhaps all the summer's practice would pay off.  
  
"Potter!" barked Snape suddenly. "Are you listening?"  
  
Harry started. "Yes sir."  
  
"Then answer my question! How many lacewings do we add to a Nightshade sleeping draught?"  
  
Harry wracked his brain, and then remembered seeing the ingredients of the Nightshade potion in one of Mrs. Figg's old books. "Three?"  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes, and Harry knew he had got the right number. "Potter, tell me what a feverwort is, its location, and its use."  
  
"A fungus found at the root of a maple tree," Harry answered, his confidence growing. "When dissolved in water, it creates an weak acid that some people use to control weed growth in their gardens."  
  
"So you've been studying," murmured Snape, furrowing his brow. "Let's see if you can answer this one: who, Potter, who is Eburneous Tuske?"  
  
"A fifteenth-century alchemist," Harry recalled. "He lived in India. He discovered the magical properties of the white elephant's ivory. He got the Order of Merlin, Third Class, in 1422."  
  
The rest of the class, even the Slytherins, made impressed noises.  
  
"Quiet!" commanded Snape, and the dungeon fell silent. Snape turned back to Harry. "Very well, Potter, I can see you've been reading up on your Potions material." His voice dropped to a disdainful mutter. "Didn't have much to do this summer, did you, Potter? What's the matter, no friends?"  
  
"What did you do this summer, Professor Snape?" Harry asked very quietly, staring directly into the professor's black eyes. "Did you meet any old friends?"  
  
Snape's cheeks flushed at the affront, and he leaned in close to Harry's face. "That is none of your business, you impertinent rascal," he murmured ttered. Then he straightened up and ordered, "Open your textbooks to page four."  
  
While they were taking notes from the textbook, Ron leaned over to Harry. "How did you know all the answers?"  
  
"I read all my textbooks this summer," confessed Harry. "This year's and last year's."  
  
"All of them?" whispered Ron in disbelief. "All the way through?"  
  
"Cover to cover," confirmed Harry. "I had nothing else to do. They wouldn't even let me leave Privet Drive."  
  
"You didn't tell me that when you wrote," accused Ron.  
  
"It wasn't like you could do anything about it," Harry whispered. "And I didn't want you to be worried or anything."  
  
"I wouldn't have been worried, I would have been indignant," Ron whispered back. "Harry-did you owl Hermione over the summer?"  
  
"Not much," said Harry, looking over at Hermione. She didn't appear to be listening, but he lowered his voice anyway. "Why?"  
  
"Do you think she wrote to him?" Ron asked.  
  
"Who?" asked Harry.  
  
"Krum!" Ron hissed. "Was she writing to him?"  
  
"I don't know," said Harry, "but why don't you-"  
  
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I'll thank you to keep your gossiping out of my classroom," barked Snape. "When you are in my class, I expect you to work. If I find you conversing again, I will deduct points from Gryffindor. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Yes, sir," muttered both boys. The Slytherins sniggered. 


	16. Defence Against the Dark Arts

The next days went on in a similar fashion. Wednesday morning the Gryffindors found their house's resident ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy- Porpington, also known as Nearly Headless Nick, seated at their table. Instead of his regular silver sheen, Nick glowed a burnished gold.  
  
"Good morning, Gryffindors!" Nick said cheerfully as they sat down by him.  
  
"Where've you been, Nick?" Dean said. "We haven't seen you in ages!"  
  
"I went to visit friends in Fiji," beamed Nick. "And now I've gained a healthy golden glow!"  
  
"Yes, lovely tan, Nick," Hermione said loudly, to cover Seamus' snorting.  
  
In the afternoon they had their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The Gryffindors filed into the classroom, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly took desks near the front. Professor Figg was not in the room, but when Harry sat down he was swarmed by the cats, who recognized their old friend.  
  
"Hey," Harry said nervously to Snowball, who was attempting to claw her way up his shins.  
  
Professor Figg entered at that moment. She sighed when she saw her pets crowded around Harry.  
  
"Get off, all of you," she ordered. Four of the cats jumped off and wandered away, but Snowball remained on his knee, staring insolently at Professor Figg. "Off," Professor Figg repeated, but the cat would not obey, and dug her claws painfully into Harry's flesh.  
  
"Now you see the importance of disciplining your pets instead of going soft and letting them have their way," Professor Figg said to the class as she pulled out her wand. "Aboretus," she pronounced, pointing her wand at Snowball. The black cat vanished before their eyes.  
  
"Where'd it go?" exclaimed Lavender Brown.  
  
Professor Figg waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, she'll reappear in a few hours. Well! Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts. I am Professor Figg. This year we will be exploring some dark avenues of strategy for protection, in preparation for your O.W.L.'s. Unfortunately, that fraud whose responsibility it was to educate your young minds never left a single lesson plan, so I've no idea what you already learned last year. But it wouldn't hurt you to learn things again, from a real teacher this time."  
  
"Why are you calling Professor Moody a fraud, Professor Figg?" Dean Thomas asked.  
  
"Because that is what he was," Professor Figg answered. "You never met the real Alastor Moody. The man who taught you was a Death Eater in disguise."  
  
The class gasped in shock.  
  
"A Death Eater! Right in front of us!"  
  
"We could have been killed at any time!"  
  
"No wonder he knew so much about Unforgivable Curses!"  
  
"Quiet," Professor Figg commanded. "This is precisely why Defence against the Dark Arts is one of the most valuable courses you will ever take at this school. You must learn to discern between what is true and who is false. The Death Eaters are skillful in their profession of villainy; but if you pay attention and heed my lessons, so will you be skillful in your defensive abilities. This year we will focus our studies mainly on the Death Eaters and the history of Voldemort."  
  
At the Forbidden Name some students flinched.  
  
"What are you doing?" Professor Figg said sharply. "Are you scared of a word? You'll have to train yourselves not to do that. I don't mind saying the name. You can cringe all you like, it's not going to stop me saying Voldemort."  
  
Hermione raised her hand. "Specifically what kind of history are you going to teach? I don't mean to correct you, but we are already taking History of Magic."  
  
"That's certainly true, but it's a different subject altogether. I'm not going to stand up here and lecture you about the goblin uprisings of 1388 or Uric the Oddball and Emeric the Evil, or whatever it is."  
  
The class giggled. Professor Figg surveyed them with a wry expression. Then she continued. "In addition to a more practical history curriculum, you will gain the benefit of my dueling experience. Yes, that means you will learn how to duel."  
  
"Will there be a duelling club?" Seamus asked.  
  
"The Headmaster is considering reinstating the duelling club this year; however, those plans are still up in the air at this point. But in class at least, you will learn the proper combat procedure and techniques. In fact, we will begin today. On your feet, everyone. You are going to learn a very quick, simple defense spell. Get out your wands to learn the Spellbinder."  
  
They spent the rest of the class mastering the Spellbinder, a version to the Impediment Jinx. The Spellbinder caught certain spells and reflected them at the hexer. At the end of the class Professor Figg tested their Spellbinders by throwing curses at them, catching her own curse when it came back to her. For the most part people's Spellbinders held up quite well against the curses, but everyone had a good laugh when Seamus Finnigan got distracted during his test and his hair turned to straw.  
  
The time flew by. There were genuine cries of disappointment when Professor Figg announced the class was over.  
  
"Homework!" she called. "I have to assign homework before you leave. I want you to read pages one through twelve in the textbook and I want two paragraphs on the difference between a spell and an incantation."  
  
"This was a lot more fun than our other classes!" said Seamus.  
  
"Can we learn more spells next class?" Lavender asked. "Maybe," said Professor Figg. "Now get out of my classroom, all of you. I do have another class to teach, you know." 


	17. Harry versus Malfoy

Hermione took her job as prefect quite seriously, and when she heard her duties included helping the first-year students adjust to a new school, Harry and Ron were the ones who suffered. Hermione decided the best way to welcome the first-years to Hogwarts was by introducing them to older students, and as Harry and Ron were usually close by, their first week was spent shaking hands with countless first-years and learning a dozen new names every day.  
  
"They're too short," groused Ron after another group of first-years had gone away. "I've got a crick in my neck from having to look down at all of them."  
  
"There can't be this many first-years," Harry said, doing mental calculations. "I think we must've met some of them twice."  
  
"Hi Ron, hi Harry!" said somebody behind them, and then repeated it twice. Harry wheeled and suddenly had triple vision. The first-year Giffard triplets beamed at him.  
  
Ron groaned. "I told you, Harry! Three of the same!"  
  
"That's not true, we're hardly the same at all," said one of the two boys.  
  
"Only in looks," said the single girl.  
  
Hermione came up behind the Giffards with Marcus McCabe and another Gryffindor first-year. "Harry and Ron, you can meet the Ravenclaws first of all. These are Eamonn and Declan Giffard."  
  
The boys shook hands with Harry and Ron and then left for lunch.  
  
The last triplet introduced herself. "I'm Niamh Giffard. I'm in Gryffindor like you." She pronounced her name "Neev", and had a thick Irish accent.  
  
"My name's Darius Diggle, I'm delighted to meet you, truly," said the other Gryffindor. "I think you might have already met my uncle Daedalus in the Leaky Cauldron a while back, he talked of nothing else but Harry Potter all that summer."  
  
Harry stifled a laugh as Darius' top hat fell off his head. "Yeah, Darius, I can see the family resemblance."  
  
Marcus McCabe jumped in eagerly. "Niamh and Darius and I are aiming to be great friends just like you three, and we'll have loads of adventures exactly like you!"  
  
"Not if I can help it," said Hermione. "There'll be no adventures while I'm a prefect."  
  
Ron laughed out loud, then quickly turned it into a cough at a severe look from Hermione. Harry also doubted that Hermione could stop them from having adventures; in fact it was more than likely that she would join them, however unwillingly.  
  
The group, now enlarged to six, made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. When he sat down, Harry's hip bone emitted a muffled squeak. The others stared at him.  
  
"Sorry," Harry said, pink-faced as he removed his Hippogriff figurine from his pocket and placed it on the table.  
  
"There's something you don't see every day," said Darius. "Where'd you get that?"  
  
"It was a birthday gift," Harry said, petting the toy's head gently.  
  
"Has it got a name?" teased Ron.  
  
Harry was sheepish. "Talonius." Seeing Ron's raised eyebrows he went on hastily, "Well, I had to name it. I couldn't just keep saying 'You there'."  
  
Later, while Harry was half-listening to Ron and Darius discussing the last weekend's Quidditch matches, he happened to glance across the Great Hall at the Slytherin table and was hit with realization. The others looked at him when his spoon clattered onto his plate.  
  
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked.  
  
"The Slytherins," Harry said. "There's only one Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, right? So they're learning the same things as us, only half their parents must be Death Eaters or former Death Eaters themselves!"  
  
"You're right! How'll Lucius Malfoy react when his son tells him what we're studying?" Hermione exclaimed. "We're practically learning the history of the Malfoy family!"  
  
Ron was undaunted. "I think Professor Figg can take care of those bloody Malfoys. Didn't you see what she did to that cat? Zap! Right off the face of the Earth. She looks like a really powerful witch. I bet Lucius Malfoy wouldn't stand a chance against her."  
  
"Hello, little Gryffindors," George Weasley greeted the group as he and his twin Fred sat down by them. "Is Ickle Ronniekins telling a story?"  
  
"Go on, Ronniekins, we're all ears," said Fred. "Hey, does anyone want a sweet?" he added, pulling a handful of wrapped candies from his pocket. Marcus started to reach for one.  
  
"Don't eat it, Marcus," Niamh said suddenly, and Hermione pushed Fred's hand away.  
  
"No, Marcus! In time you'll learn never to touch anything these two offer you. Oh, Fred, honestly, they're just first-years."  
  
"We'll get one of you, yet," laughed George. "One of these days, when our dear little prefect isn't watching."  
  
Niamh took a sweet and unwrapped it.  
  
"Niamh, no! Don't eat that!" Harry said in alarm.  
  
"I'm not, I'm just looking," said Niamh. " 'We're all ears,' hm? If I ate this, what would happen to my ears, exactly?"  
  
"Ahhh, she's a clever one," said Fred. "You guessed the joke. Here, have a chocolate on the house."  
  
"No thanks," Niamh said.  
  
"Well then, c'mon Fred," said George, "we've got to go find Lee Jordan. Says he's found a new way into the kitchens."  
  
"I don't believe him," said Fred, "we must've found 'em all," and the twins left the table.  
  
"Brothers of yours?" Darius asked Ron.  
  
"How many families have red hair freckles like that?" responded Ron, reaching for a custard tart.  
  
"They're all right though," Harry said to Darius. "Just a bit joky, right Ron? Oh-" Harry suppressed laughter as he turned to face a large, angry- looking canary. Within a few seconds Ron had moulted back to his original form, but he kept his irate expression.  
  
"Damned Canary Creams!" he blurted out, taking a fork and viciously stabbing the rest of the custard tarts, sitting innocently on their silver platter. "Those damn twins!"  
  
"Oh, Ron," sighed Hermione, giggling, "you spend all that time with your brothers and you still haven't learned to spot the fake foods?"  
  
"That was great!" Marcus enthused. "Harry, can you do that?"  
  
A soft mocking drawl spoke up. "Weasley, you make a repugnant canary. But it's the best you've ever looked."  
  
The six Gryffindors looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing close by, a smirk on his pale face. He was flanked by his thugs Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy laughed quietly, and Harry's hands clenched into fists.  
  
"What a hideous bird you made!" Malfoy jeered. "The only uglier thing with feathers than a Weasley canary is a Hippogriff."  
  
While Malfoy spoke Harry's Hippogriff figurine was stirring on the table, unnoticed by the obnoxious Slytherin, and as Malfoy's last word left his lips Talonius took off with a shrill screech. The miniature Hippogriff launched itself forward with immense wrath. It clawed at Malfoy, and both combatants were shrieking. Harry leaped up after it.  
  
"Talonius, Talonius, come back! No, no!"  
  
He managed at last to grab the little toy with both hands and stuffed it into the pocket of his robe.  
  
For all its ferocity, Talonius had done little physical harm to Malfoy. Malfoy was fine, if a little shaken. But he was livid.  
  
"You can't do this to me!" he shouted at Harry. By this time it seemed the whole student body had stopped eating and was watching the skirmish. "You tried to injure me, and you probably won't even get punished for it by the teachers, but I won't forget this. You'll be hearing from my father, Potter, just you wait!"  
  
"Oh, I'm shaking," snapped Harry. "Do your worst."  
  
Malfoy's eyes flashed, and his hand twitched. For a moment Harry thought Malfoy was going to attack him with a curse-but then Malfoy's hand dropped away from his pocket, and he stalked out of the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him. 


	18. The Secret Admirer

One morning, as Harry was involved in consuming his cornflakes, a hundred owls swooped into the Great Hall.  
  
"Post's here," Ron said unnecessarily.  
  
A screech owl dropped a Daily Prophet newspaper into Hermione's plate of sausages and took off, narrowly missing a midair collision with Hedwig. The snowy owl hooted indignantly and came to land by Harry.  
  
"Hi, Hedwig, got something for me?" Harry asked her hopefully. The owl let an envelope fall into his lap, then dipped her beak into his pumpkin juice and flew off the Owlery.  
  
"Look, Harry," Ron said with unconcealed envy. "Malfoy's got another package of sweets! It must be his third this week. Don't his parents ever run out of money?"  
  
Sure enough, at the Slytherin table Malfoy was unwrapping a parcel of assorted confections.  
  
"Don't let it bother you," Harry said to Ron. "Just concentrate on how spotty Malfoy'll be after he's eaten all that chocolate."  
  
"And he'll have so many cavities that he'll have to get all his teeth pulled," added Hermione, whose parents were dentists. "And people with false teeth can't smirk too well."  
  
"Still," sighed Ron, "it would be nice if someone sent me something once in a whi- OUCH! Hey!"  
  
A giant box had just smacked Ron on the head. Two eagle owls released the parcel from their claws, and it landed in the middle of the Gryffindor table. Everyone stared at it. The box was gift-wrapped and tied up in a huge red bow.  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"It's probably for Harry Potter."  
  
The sight of the gift seemed to lower Ron's spirits further. "A present from one of Harry's fans, no doubt," he grumbled, rubbing the side of his head.  
  
"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "Look at the tag, Ron! It's for you!"  
  
"What?" cried Ron, bolting upright. "I don't know anyone who would send me this. My parents can't aff- I mean, they're not the type of people to send extravagant gifts."  
  
"It's not from your parents," said Harry, taking the card that came with the gift. He read aloud, " 'Darling Ron, you may not know me, but I have been watching you for some time and I simply worship you. Please accept this gift as a token of my affection, but know that none of these candies are as sweet as you. Love always, your Secret Admirer.' Ugh, that was rather saccharine."  
  
Ron goggled. "This has to be a prank. It's Fred and George! This is a joke and these are joke sweets."  
  
"There's only one way to find out," said Harry. "Let's eat some."  
  
They pulled off the red bow and ripped off the gift-wrap. When they opened the box, a shower of heart-shaped confetti exploded from within. As the clouds of confetti cleared, Dean Thomas peered inside.  
  
"Hey, there really is candy in here! Loads of it!"  
  
"Who'll eat first?" asked Hermione worriedly.  
  
"I'll sacrifice myself," volunteered Seamus eagerly. He opened a package of Chocolate Frogs and, after a brief inspection, ate one. Suddenly he clutched his chest and fell off his chair, and lay motionless on the floor.  
  
"Seamus!" cried Harry. "Wake up! Say something!"  
  
Seamus immediately opened his eyes. "Yum, chocolate! Did I scare you?"  
  
The candy did indeed appear fit for human consumption, so Ron shared it around with his friends.  
  
"I do wonder," he said later to Harry, through a mouthful of Honeydukes chocolate, "who my Secret Admirer could be."  
  
"It's a mystery," Harry said, watching Ron's eyes darting around. "Whom do you suspect?"  
  
"No one," said Ron, too quickly. "I don't suspect anyone. I have no suspicions at all. Why, do you have inside information?"  
  
"Sorry, no. If I did know, I'd tell you."  
  
"Thanks, Harry. I'd tell you if I heard anything about. well, you know."  
  
"What?" said Harry. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Well. about, ah, Cho. I mean, Cho Chang. I- I thought you fancied her a bit."  
  
Harry coloured, feeling annoyed for some reason. "I don't need inside information about her, Ron. And maybe I don't even like her."  
  
"Don't like Cho?" Ron seemed surprised. "Are we talking about the same girl?"  
  
"Ron, there's more than one girl in the world."  
  
"That's not how you were acting last year," Ron retorted.  
  
Harry frowned. "A lot of things happened last year, if you'll remember. It's just a bit awkward with Cedric and all. I suppose I don't feel like talking to Cho anymore."  
  
Ron was still looking at him askance. "Well. all right. if you say so." And he turned back to his sweets. 


	19. The Snake

On Friday of the second week of school Rubeus Hagrid returned to Hogwarts. The Gryffindors had their first Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid and the Slytherin fifth-years that afternoon.  
  
"Imagine what kind of awful things he's brought back with him!" wailed Hermione.  
  
"Charlie tells me that the colonies of giants up north train some really horrific beasts," Ron said worriedly. "Just the kind that Hagrid loves."  
  
"Hey, Gryffindors!" Hagrid shouted as they trudged forth. "Hey, over 'ere!"  
  
"He's got the Slytherins all by the edge of the Forbidden Forest," Ron said, perplexed. "And I don't see any huge dangerous beasts. And nothing's even on fire! What's going on?"  
  
"It's good to see all yer smilin' faces again," Hagrid greeeted the class once they had gathered round. "I've been away for so long! I missed the lot o' yeh while I was gone, and I missed teachin' yeh. But don't worry, we'll soon catch up the time we've lost!"  
  
"Fantastic," Malfoy muttered.  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron hissed angrily.  
  
"Ron, pay attention!" whispered Hermione.  
  
"Now," Hagrid was saying, "unfortunately I couldn't bring back the terrific beasts I met this summer."  
  
"What a shame," Dean Thomas and Malfoy murmured at the same time.  
  
"Beasts like. dragons, for example." Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Hagrid had obviously visited Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback during the summer. "But I did get permission from 'eadmaster Dumbledore to let us explore the wil'life in the Forbidden Forest!" Hagrid said brightly. "Aren' we lucky?"  
  
The class mumbled. All the students looked glum.  
  
"C'mon!" Hagrid boomed happily. "Into the Forest!"  
  
And in they trooped. They walked along the path for a while, with Hagrid talking cheerfully over his shoulder as he led them through the trees.  
  
"We'll be walkin' through this edge o' the fores' only, for today, checkin' out the wil'life an' maybe meetin' with a centaur or two."  
  
"But they'll attack us," whined Pansy Parkinson.  
  
"We'll all be killed in these woods," predicted Malfoy. "There are werewolves and all sorts of dangerous monsters in the Forbidden Forest.  
  
"You're worried about werewolves in plain daylight?" Hermione scoffed. "They only transform in the full moon, Malfoy. Maybe if you paid attention to lessons-"  
  
"I'd turn into a know-it-all like you, Granger?" Malfoy finished scornfully.  
  
"Why, you slimy-" Ron began, starting forward, but Hagrid quickly stepped between him and Malfoy.  
  
"Come on then," Hagrid said loudly, and marched off in one direction.  
  
The class walked through the woods, examining the magical creatures Hagrid pointed out along the way: tiny, crablike Chizpurfles, fat rude Jarveys, pink bristly Horklumps, ugly little gnomes. Then Parvati gave a cry and pointed.  
  
"Hagrid, look! A fairy!"  
  
Sure enough, when Harry followed her pointing finger, he spied a small, electric blue light. A little blue fairy flitted through a patch of wildflowers, darting from flower to flower.  
  
"Can we catch it?" Dean asked eagerly.  
  
Hagrid burst out laughing. "Catch a fairy? Yeh can try if yeh like, though I doubt you'll be quick enough. Twenty-five points to the house who can catch it - that is, withou' sabotagin' the other house," he added warningly.  
  
All the students took off after the fairy, who nimbly skipped out of reach and was off like a shot. Despite their best physical efforts and some stunning displays of athletic prowess, the students could hardly keep up with the fairy. Crabbe chased it into a briar patch and lost sight of it while he paused to pull the thorns out of his cheek. Seamus darted after it but forgot to look where he was going and collided with a beech tree. Ron spearheaded a three-pronged attack, in which Seamus and Neville went after the fairy directly from behind, Ron and Hermione ran at it from one side, and Harry, Dean and Lavender went round a copse of trees to head the fairy off at the pass.  
  
Harry could run quite fast for his slight build. He swiftly raced ahead of Lavender and Dean, and was almost upon the fairy when he heard Lavender scream, some distance behind him.  
  
"Harry! Help, help!"  
  
All thoughts of fairies and house points vanished from his mind as Harry turned back without hesitation to find Lavender and Dean.  
  
They had stopped in a small clearing, and Harry immediately saw why. A huge, twelve-foot-long python had Dean cornered, backed up against a chestnut tree. Lavender was up in the lower branches of another tree, looking terrified. Summoning his courage, Harry boldly stepped forward.  
  
"Hey, you there!" he hissed at the snake in Parseltongue. "Get away from him!"  
  
The python turned its triangular head and looked at Harry, giving Dean a chance to climb up into the chestnut tree.  
  
"I'm hungry," hissed the python. It began to slither towards Harry. "I need food."  
  
Harry felt panic rising in him. "Not me."  
  
The snake made a peculiar hissing, spitting sound-a laugh? "I wouldn't eat a Parselmouth," it hissed, stopping a few feet away from Harry. "I couldn't. It goes against my nature. Snakes live to serve Parselmouths. You, you are our kin."  
  
Harry wasn't sure how he felt about snakes trying to serve him, but he didn't say anything about it. "There are lots of Jarveys in the woods," he said. "But please don't eat any students."  
  
The python looked round, and Harry suddenly became uncomfortably conscious of the rest of the class and Hagrid, gathered around the clearing, hiding behind trees. "Not even a little one?" the python asked, gazing at Neville.  
  
"No! What are you doing in the Forbidden Forest anyway? There aren't usually snakes here."  
  
"I am not native to these parts," admitted the python. "But I was summoned. Thousands of snakes were called to this wood by a Parselmouth like yourself."  
  
Harry felt sick. He knew of only one other Parselmouth in the world. "What is the name of the other?"  
  
"Lord Voldemort," the python hissed reverently, confirming Harry's guess. "Our Lord and master."  
  
"You can't obey him," pleaded Harry. "What's he telling you?"  
  
"He wants to kill the boy called Harry Potter," proclaimed the python. "He resides in the castle. Do you know who he is?"  
  
Harry felt weak. "I'm Harry Potter."  
  
The python was startled. "You? You are Harry Potter? A Gryffindor Parselmouth?"  
  
"Are you going to kill me?" Harry asked.  
  
"No! I can't. I am gravely sorry... We did not know you were a Parselmouth. Are you going to kill me?"  
  
"What? No!" Harry was astonished. "Why would I do that?"  
  
"Lord Voldemort would do it," the python said in puzzlement. "I confess that I am unused to lenience in a master. Lord Voldemort eliminates any servants who fail him."  
  
Harry shuddered. "I'm not like him!" This statement came out a little stronger than he had intended.  
  
The python appeared sympathetic. "I will warn my serpent kin. Rarely have two Parselmouths existed at once. Two master- which to obey? At times like these it is best for us to remove ourselves from either of your services. We will not risk discord amongst ourselves. But you must beware! For Lord Voldemort is not so compassionate towards beings similar to him- like you. He will send more of his servants to kill you. Good- bye, Parselmouth. Your life is spared-for the moment."  
  
"Thank you," croaked Harry, weak with relief, and the python slithered away. The clearing was silent. 


	20. Announcements

Before dinner Dumbledore stood up and waited patiently for their attention.  
  
"Good evening," he said with a pleasant smile when the buzz in the Great Hall died down. "Before we eat I would like to make a few announcements.  
  
"Firstly, I would like you to welcome back Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts groundskeeper and teacher. He has been away for some time but he assures me he is ready to plunge wholeheartedly back into the Care of Magical Creatures curriculum. Some of you may already have had a class with him today and can appreciate his enthusiasm for the subject. Hagrid is a valued member of our staff and we missed him greatly while he was gone."  
  
The Gryffindors led the applause. At the head table Hagrid turned bright red and wiped away great big tears of gratification.  
  
"Next," Dumbledore went on, "I wish to warn you all again about the Forbidden Forest. Recently a new danger was discovered there." His gaze alighted on Harry's head for half a second. "Some two hundred and fifty snakes have infested the Forest."  
  
Immediately a murmur rose and swelled through the Great Hall. A couple of people turned and looked at Harry, including half the Slytherins, who had obviously all been informed of the events of that afternoon. Harry refused to return their glares.  
  
"Calm down," Dumbledore called, and the murmur died. "There is no cause for alarm. The problem will be dealt with. But naturally, none of you will be in the Forest." He looked around, blue eyes sparkling in amusement.  
  
"And finally, my last announcement. The Quidditch house championships will begin before long. This year's captains are fine, responsible individuals who will strive to lead their teams to victory with the Quidditch Cup. Would the captains please stand?" One person at each table stood. "The Slytherin teams is captained by Daniel Warrington. The Hufflepuff team is led by Cecil Shrewe. Our Ravenclaws are led by Graham Grosvenor. And last but not least, the Gryffindor captain is Alicia Spinnet." Harry applauded wildly with the rest as the captains sat down. Alicia Spinnet was pink with pleasure.  
  
Dumbledore went on. "On September 21st - that's the third Saturday of the month - each house will be holding tryouts for the positions left open by last year's graduating students. I'm afraid I'm not quite sure which positions are open on which teams, so students interested in playing will have to see the captain of their house about that.  
  
"And this concludes my announcements. Now let's dig into our dinners!"  
  
During the meal Harry asked Ron and Hermione, "Are you thinking of joining the team?"  
  
Hermione was horrified. "Have you gone off your head? Me, on a broomstick?"  
  
"I'd like to join," Ron said eagerly. "What positions are there?"  
  
"Keeper," Harry said, "since Oliver Wood left Hogwarts last year."  
  
"I want to try out," Ron said. Then his face fell. "But I haven't got a broom."  
  
"You could use a school broom," suggested Hermione.  
  
Ron was scandalized. "A school broom? Cleansweeps, Comets-Hermione, those are terrible! No, what I'd like is a broom of my own. Maybe even a Nimbus, all the brooms on the Nimbus line are excellent."  
  
"You could ask your parents," Harry said.  
  
"Racing brooms are not in their budget," Ron said stiffly.  
  
"Maybe your Secret Admirer will come through with a broom for you," said Hermione.  
  
Ron eyed her suspiciously. "Maybe."  
  
"Harry," said someone behind him.  
  
Harry turned around and looked into the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. "Professor?"  
  
"Would you be so kind as to come to my office after dinner?"  
  
"Well, yes, but-"  
  
"Thank you." Dumbledore moved away, leaving Harry baffled. 


	21. The Order of the Phoenix

After dinner Harry made his way to the Headmaster's office. The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance came into view, and Harry realized he didn't know the password.  
  
"Erm," he began as he got near the entrance, but to his surprise when the gargoyle saw him coming he leapt aside immediately. Harry cautiously sidled past him, murmuring thanks. He rode the moving spiral staircase, and nervously knocked at the great oak door.  
  
"Open sesame," called Dumbledore from inside. The door opened by itself, and Harry stepped into Dumbledore's office.  
  
The wizard himself was sitting at his desk, writing on a parchment in dark red ink. He looked up and smiled at Harry, standing in his doorway.  
  
"Good, the gargoyle let you in. Please come in, Harry. Here, sit down."  
  
Dumbledore conjured up a wing-backed armchair across the desk, and Harry sat, feeling apprehensive.  
  
The scroll and quill vanished, and Dumbledore fixed Harry with his blue gaze. "Harry, I think you can guess why I asked you to come speak with me."  
  
"The snakes," sighed Harry. "The snakes in the Forbidden Forest."  
  
"Exactly. I've already listened what Hagrid could get out of it, and of course I keep in contact with the centaurs. But none of them understood what you did, Harry, so I want to hear from you what happened. Include everything, omit nothing, please."  
  
So Harry recounted the events of the afternoon to Dumbledore, all that he remembered of his dialogue with the python. He was surprised and a little worried to watch Dumbledore's face getting increasingly grim. When Harry finished Dumbledore was frowning, and mumbling to himself.  
  
"Summoned!" he muttered, seemingly having forgotten Harry's presence. "What sort of devilry could he be up to. summoned! And ready to pledge allegiance to a fifteen-year-old boy. But if he is here, then they could be."  
  
All of a sudden he became aware of Harry, sitting in the wing-backed armchair, staring at him. His clouded brow cleared and Harry was relieved to see him smile. "Well, you don't need to listen to that. Sometimes I just get lost in my thoughts."  
  
This reminded Harry of Dumbledore's generous birthday gift. "Oh, Professor Dumbledore, I almost forgot to thank you for the Pensieve you sent at my birthday."  
  
"You're very welcome. Have you begun to use it yet?"  
  
"Yes. it's rather more complicated than I realized."  
  
"I'm sure you can master the technique with some practise. All it takes is practise, Harry, and the wrist movement, and the mind power. Once you get to my age, and you have decades of memories crammed into your head, you'll find your Pensieve indispensable."  
  
Harry wanted to ask exactly what age Dumbledore was, but thought it would be rude, so he changed the subject. "Professor, may I ask you something? Why didn't anyone tell me about Mrs. Figg? Why didn't I know that this witch was living two blocks away, who could have told me about my being a wizard at any time? Was it to protect me, or something like that? Or just keeping it from me?"  
  
Dumbledore looked surprised. "Why, Harry, it wasn't that anyone wanted to keep things from you, and of course it wasn't to protect you; you know Arabella Figg well enough to realize that she poses no dangers whatsoever. But at her request, no one mentioned to you that she was a witch. I believe she wanted you to figure out by yourself. And you did find out on your own, which pleased her. Arabella is quite fond of you, Harry. She wanted you to grow up on your own, to experience things for yourself."  
  
"But- but if she had told me I was a wizard years ago, I would never have had to suffer living with my cousin Dudley and my Muggle relatives!"  
  
"And you would have turned out to be a completely different person," returned Dumbledore gently. "If you had been cosseted and spoiled in your youth, you might not have turned out much differently than the cousin you speak of so disparagingly."  
  
Harry let this sink in for a minute. "I suppose in the long run, it was better that I didn't know I was a wizard," he said at last grudgingly. "But I never knew Mrs. Figg was nice at all. She acted nasty for so many years."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. "It was an act, Harry. She may have had her own reasons for alienating you, though I don't know them. But she's been watching out for you ever since I placed you on that doorstep, years ago. She warded away dangers, she collected your fan mail-"  
  
"I never got any fan mail," interrupted Harry.  
  
"Exactly. She kept it, to save you from getting a swelled head. Arabella Figg has been sort of like a guardian to you through your childhood. But perhaps for modesty's sake, she never wanted you to know it."  
  
Harry was thinking. "What kind of dangers did you mean?"  
  
Dumbledore paused thoughtfully. "Well. I don't know."  
  
Harry watched him. "Did someone ask you to keep it a secret?" He couldn't keep the resentment out of his voice.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "If you really must know. there have been fourteen separate attempts on your life this past summer."  
  
Harry stared at him, bereft of speech.  
  
"We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to panic."  
  
Harry found his voice. "Panic? Who, me? I'm perfectly calm. Assassinations, you said? By who?"  
  
"Various followers of Voldemort. Our stakeout missions actually uncovered a number of double agents, whom we had thought were loyal to our side." His voice was sad.  
  
"But-" Harry's head was spinning. "Fourteen?"  
  
"Five in July and nine in August."  
  
"August? But Mrs. Figg was away all that month. How could she protect me?"  
  
"It wasn't her personally, Harry. It was-well..." Dumbledore regarded gravely Harry for a few seconds, as if debating a grave decision. "Harry, I am going to tell you one of the best-kept secrets of the Ministry of Magic. It is with great reluctance that I reveal this secret to you. But I will tell you, because I trust you. However, this does not travel outside of these walls. Is this clear? You do not tell Ronald Weasley, you do not tell Hermione Granger. This is a confidence between you and I only. Do you understand?"  
  
Harry nodded mutely, his brain still trying to cope with the news about the assassination attempts.  
  
Dumbledore leaned back in his great armchair. "Harry, Voldemort is evidently not the first evil wizard in history. Evil wizards have been wreaking havoc with the world since time immemorial. They continually succeed each other. It's an inescapable cycle. The dominant evil magical influence before Lord Voldemort was a wizard, by the name of Grindelwald."  
  
"You defeated him in 1945," said Harry, recalling the Chocolate Frogs card he had read about Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"Yes. But that is not the secret. This story has to do with our respective associates-mine and Grindelwald's."  
  
"Associates?" repeated Harry. "I don't understand."  
  
"My associates were good witches and wizards who, like me, wanted to defeat Grindelwald. He, in his turn, called his group his Black Beasts. Every evil wizard has a faction of followers-but so do good wizards, generally."  
  
"Like you," Harry said.  
  
"Well, yes, like me. And that is the secret, Harry-the Order of the Phoenix."  
  
"The Order of the Phoenix?"  
  
"Yes, exactly. The Order of the Phoenix is an elite company of Britain's top Aurors, defense strategists, and experts in several fields of study. It was founded jointly by the Minister of Magic and myself in 1935, when Grindelwald began his ascent to power. The Order is part of the Dark Force Defense League, a subdivision of the Mysteries department in the Ministry of Magic."  
  
"So the Order of the Phoenix is made of wizards who wanted to defeat Grindelwald?"  
  
"Yes, originally. And we succeeded in 1945. But later Voldemort's Death Eaters emerged on the scene, and the Order of the Phoenix changed targets. We will be here forever to fight the new enemy, Harry. As time goes on and evil succeeds evil, some of our members may die or drop out, but there will always be new Phoenixes to replace them."  
  
"Who are the Phoenixes? How do I know who's in the Order?"  
  
"Watch closely now." The Headmaster held out his right hand. Harry stared at the unadorned fingers. Using the index finger and thumb of his left hand, Dumbledore touched the opposite sides of the base of his right-hand little finger and moved them clockwise. Then a line of gold appeared where his fingers slid over the skin, a gold ring that blazed almost brightly enough to hurt Harry's eyes.  
  
Dumbledore slid it off his finger and handed it to Harry. Harry closed his fingers over the ring. It was surprisingly light in his hand and exuded a kind of inner heat. He opened his hand and exmined the ring. It was shiny and the surface was completely untarnished, save the inside, on which was etched a pattern of flames.  
  
"A perfect circle of flames of gold," Dumbledore said. "Every member wears a ring, and it can be magically concealed from view if the need arises."  
  
"But who are the Phoenixes?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "Well, whom do you think is a member?"  
  
Harry thought. "I've seen those rings on Professor McGonagall and Professor Figg, so they must be members. But otherwise I can't remember them on anyone else."  
  
"I can't tell you the names of every member, because I've already told you a lot of restricted information. But I will tell you that Remus Lupin has recently been made a full-fledged Phoenix. And though Sirius Black could not receive the same acknowledgment-Cornelius Fudge would never hear of it- we consider him one of us, and he secretly takes on undercover missions for our side."  
  
"Lupin? And Sirius?" Harry was stunned. "I never knew-they didn't tell me."  
  
"Do you think they would jeopardize themselves like that? Harry, even I shouldn't be telling you. But I want you to be able to recognize your friends among your many foes. Friends like the teachers at this school-not all of them are in the Order or even know about it, but consider them safe." He paused. "And though they are no longer with us, I can tell you that your parents had just joined our junior ranks before they went into hiding with you."  
  
"My parents," Harry echoed slowly.  
  
"Yes. Lily and James Potter were two of my apprentices, preparing to become licensed Aurors."  
  
"They were going to be Aurors?"  
  
"They already were, to some extent. They had all the requisite skills, but they had only to pass a test to get their certification. Then they could move up to the senior echelons."  
  
A bright idea occurred to Harry. "If they were both Phoenixes, does that mean I'm a member too?"  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. "Try on the ring and see. It only fits members."  
  
Harry looked at the ring. It was rather big, and he wondered how one ring could fit only members. He tried to put it on his middle finger at first, but it was too small. He jammed it on his little finger, but curiously, it wouldn't even fit there. At last he gave up and sat back.  
  
"It shrinks," he realised in dismay, "on non-members."  
  
Dumbledore smiled and took back the ring. He slipped it easily on his little finger. "You are not a member, Harry. Membership is not passed on from parent to child like an aristocratic title. You have to prove yourself worthy of this ring and the responsibility it symbolizes. But it's not impossible, Harry. Your parents forged a lot of progress towards this goal before they died. You too can earn yourself a place among the nation's greatest Aurors."  
  
Suddenly there came a shout at the door. "Albus! News! Open sesame!"  
  
The door burst open and a beautiful young witch ran in, looking agitated. She had waist-length chestnut hair and dark brown eyes. On her right hand burned the dazzling golden brilliance of the Phoenix ring, and on her left hand was a diamond engagement ring.  
  
"Perdita?" Dumbledore said, rising to his feet.  
  
"Albus!" gasped the witch. "Not ten minutes ago, a cat saw a rat in a broom closet."  
  
"Minerva saw Peter Pettigrew in the Three Broomsticks Inn?" Dumbledore said excitedly.  
  
"I was speaking in code because of him," Perdita said huffily, jerking her thumb at Harry.  
  
"Perdita, this is Harry Potter. I've told him some things about the Order of the Phoenix. Harry, this is Perdita Clemens."  
  
"Hello," Harry said politely.  
  
"Yes, yes," Perdita muttered, still looking at him suspiciously. Harry felt a twinge of confusion and annoyance. Normally his name and his presence combined never failed to make an impression on magical people, and though he continuously stated that he didn't want to coast through life on the strength of his unwarranted reputation, it surprised him to find that his influence seemed to be fading.  
  
"So you see, Harry, I'm terribly sorry," Dumbledore was saying, and Harry jumped because he hadn't been listening. "But I really must act on this new information."  
  
"It's all right, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said hastily, jumping up. Perdita Clemens was practically bouncing off the walls in her anxiety to be rid of him. "I'll leave now."  
  
"Harry," said Dumbledore, and Harry stopped halfway to the door. "Thank you for telling me about this afternoon. It is very valuable information. But please, if you should happen to notice anything else anomalous, come see me at once."  
  
"Yes, Professor. Thank you for.telling me the secret. It's safe with me." And Harry went out. 


	22. Neville and the Pensieve

"Neville," Seamus Finnigan said Tuesday evening, "how many Flutterby Bushes can I plant in one pot with a radius of three feet seven inches?"  
  
"Two if they're small," Neville said wearily. "If the roots extend beyond one foot on either side of the plant you'll only be able to fit one in."  
  
The fifth-years were huddled in a corner by the fireplace, doing homework and studying for an Herbology test the next day. Neville, whose Herbology mark was the highest of their year, was being consulted frequently. He seemed pleased by the attention, though he was surprised by how little the rest of his friends had absorbed from what he thought were fascinating lessons with Professor Sprout.  
  
They were also studying for a Potions quiz they suspected would be thrown at them the next day. Harry and Hermione were the undisputed authorities in this field: Hermione of course because she had a spotless academic record in everything, and Harry because he had recently been proving his considerable intellect in class. Harry was regularly subjected to surprise interrogations by Professor Snape, who would not rest until Harry missed a question in Potions. Frustrated and annoyed, Snape had taken to announcing surprise quizzes in their class at least three times a week and also watched Harry like a hawk every minute, trying to catch him in some punishable offense so that he could assign him extra homework on archaic alchemy techniques. Harry only barely managed to get these extra assignments done on time, and would already have racked up several weeks of detentions for incomplete work had it not been for Hermione's assistance. Hermione was grateful to Harry because while Snape was thinking up questions to throw at Harry he was too busy to call her a know-it-all.  
  
They studied and argued together till eleven o'clock, when Neville said he had revised enough and was going to bed. Pleading mortal fatigue, he waved down their protests and went upstairs to his dorm.  
  
Soon afterwards, Harry felt his eyelids drooping. Despite the magic floating in the atmosphere, he doubted there was any magic that would allow him to soak up information by sleeping on his textbook, so he also packed up his books and climbed the stairs to bed.  
  
The lights were on in the boys' dorm and all five beds were empty. Neville was not there. Harry thought Neville had gone to brush his teeth. He was moving towards the table by his bed when he stubbed his toe on something hard. He looked downwards and found himself staring down into a dark cemetery in the middle of the night. His Pensieve sat on the floor, displaying his memory of the duel with Voldemort.  
  
Harry frowned because he knew that he had pushed the Pensieve all the way under the bed after the last time he'd used it a few days ago, and he knew that Pensieves didn't just start exhibiting memories without provocation. He dropped to his knees and peered inside, taking care not to touch the surface. Aha! From this vantage point he could clearly see Neville Longbottom crouched behind a tombstone, pale and shaking. Harry watched him as Neville, slack-jawed and with tears shining on his cheeks, witnessed the splintering of the golden ray of light that connected the two wands.  
  
Harry changed into his pajamas and put his schoolbooks in his trunk. Then he he sat down on his bed and waited patiently while Neville watched him run through the graveyard and Summon the Triwizard Cup. He reread the Pensieve instructions as Neville travelled back to Hogwarts with Harry and the body of Cedric Diggory. When the false Mad-Eye Moody began to push his way through the crowds, Harry drew his wand, took a deep breath, and stepped into the Pensieve.  
  
The moment the sole of his foot touched the surface he found himself standing in his memory. Neville lay on ground at his feet, looking dazed.  
  
"Hello Neville," Harry said.  
  
Neville stared up at the Harry who was standing over him. Then he turned his head and stared at the Harry sitting on the ground a few feet away, holding the Triwizard Cup.  
  
"Neville, it's the real me," said Harry.  
  
Neville seemed to suddenly understand. "Harry! I- I didn't mean to-"  
  
"It's okay, Neville," Harry said. "Let's get out of here."  
  
He took Neville's elbow and said, "Illucambium Leviosa."  
  
They floated up into the air, did a forward somersault and landed on the floor of their dorm.  
  
Neville immediately began blurting out panicked apologies. "Harry! Harry, I'm so sorry, there was a silvery light under your bed and I was just curious to see what it was-"  
  
"It's okay, Neville," Harry interrupted, feeling oddly composed in the face of Neville's genuine angst. "It's all right."  
  
Neville paused uncertainly. "Are you sure? I didn't mean to snoop, it was just there. I'm really truly sorry, Harry."  
  
"Well, you can't very well take it back now, can you?" Harry said, making an attempt to sound cheerful. Having the whole scene replayed before his eyes wrenched his heart. He tried to block out the memory of Cedric Diggory's startled face, with the open, staring eyes that never saw anything again.  
  
Neville opened his mouth, then closed it and looked down at his hands. They were still shaking. He clasped them together as if embarrassed. Harry waited.  
  
Finally Neville spoke hesitantly. "He- he put Cruciatus on you."  
  
"Yes," said Harry, who knew that Neville's parents had been driven to madness from the agony of the banned curse when Neville was a small child.  
  
"It hurt?"  
  
"Like- like a fire being lit inside me," Harry said, struggling to find words to describe the unimaginable pain. "Like a million knives stabbing at once." It was hard to talk about it, even now when Harry knew he was safe.  
  
"But you didn't go insane," Neville said.  
  
"No," said Harry, pretending to be puzzled. "But I suppose I didn't get the whole force of the curse, either. Maybe he wasn't putting all of himself into the Cruciatus. I guess if I had gotten the whole of the curse it would have had more lasting effects."  
  
"My parents were tortured with the Cruciatus," Neville said softly.  
  
Harry feigned shock. "What?"  
  
"It happened when I was very small," Neville said. Harry knew how much it hurt Neville to bring it up and open his ancient wounds. "My dad was an Auror. It was a few years after the fall of You-Know-Who. One night a group of Death Eaters came to our house, wanting information from my dad about You-Know-Who. They tortured him, and when he wouldn't tell him anything, they tortured my mother too. They- they were driven mad."  
  
"Oh, Neville," said Harry.  
  
Now that a trickle of words had started, the whole story was pouring out. "My gran was in the house with us. She rushed me out of the house before they could get to us. I don't remember that night at all, I must have been too small. But I remember the next time I saw my parents. They were at St. Mungo's Hospital, in the Irreparable Damage wing. They didn't recognize me or my gran. They still don't." The tears spilled over onto Neville's pale cheeks.  
  
Harry could think of nothing suitable to say. "Neville, I'm sorry." The words sounded lame and inadequate. Harry tried again. "I know how hard it is to lose someone."  
  
Neville wiped his face on his sleeve. "It could be worse, I know. At least my parents are still alive." Harry suddenly felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Neville suddenly realized what he had said. "Oh, sorry, Harry, I didn't mean it like that, I really didn't."  
  
"It's okay," Harry said, feeling very empty. He knew Neville hadn't meant to offend him, but he couldn't help feeling a twinge of sorrow over the parents he had never known. Neville was looking wretched and contrite again, and Harry wasn't feeling too cheery himself. He tried to steer the conversation back to the Longbottoms. "Maybe someday they'll invent a cure and you'll have your parents back, Neville."  
  
Neville smiled, his cheeks wet and shiny from the tears. "Maybe. I hope so." He stood up. "Thanks, Harry. It was- it was really good to have someone listen."  
  
"Anytime," Harry said, trying to sound bright.  
  
"I'm going to go brush my teeth," Neville said.  
  
Harry nodded and Neville left. When the door closed, Harry went to his trunk and unearthed a leather-bound book from the piles of clothes. He climbed into bed and pulled the curtain hangings shut around him. He lit the end of his wand with a dim yellow light.  
  
Only then did he open the leather album and begin turning the pages full of photographs. His mother and father grinned out at him from every picture, and sometimes baby Harry was there as well, in the shelter of their loving arms. Harry stared at his parents, forever youthful and happy in these photographs, and did not even realize he was crying. 


	23. The Nimbus Feather Light Broom

As Saturday the 21st approached Ron became increasingly tense. Harry knew Ron was dying to try out to be Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. But Ron was despairing over the fact that he had no broom of his own to ride, and so another person would take the position of Keeper, probably for the duration of their time at Hogwarts, and Ron would never even have a chance to try out. Harry knew this without asking, but Ron didn't talk about it anyways. Ron was outspoken on almost every topic, but if it had anything to do with his finances or personal desires, he kept his thoughts to himself.  
  
At last Ron's self-restraint broke down, six days before the Quidditch tryouts. Harry, tired of doing homework for hours on end, went out to the Quidditch pitch during a spare period to practise Seeker moves. Ron accompanied him, but when they reached the pitch Ron's attention was diverted by a class of first-years.  
  
"Harry, look. A flying class!"  
  
Two lines of first-year Gryffindors were learning how to fly on broomsticks. Harry could see the flying instructor, Madam Hooch calling out commands to Marcus McCabe, who looked utterly perplexed.  
  
"These basic skills will come in handy once you all start getting interested in playing Quidditch for your house!" Madam Hooch was shouting at the first-years. "It's the greatest honour to be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"  
  
Ron was silent as he listened to her, but once they had arrived on the Quidditch field his willpower crumbled and he grabbed at Harry's arm.  
  
"Harry, I need a broom, and I need it between now and Saturday. I wasn't going to ask you for help, but I'm really desperate. If I don't try out this year I won't ever get on the team at all, I'm sure of it. I need you to help me think of ways to get a broom from somewhere - anywhere at all."  
  
"Don't worry, Ron," Harry said. "We'll find you a broom if we kill ourselves at it. But before we start on that, come on, you can have a go on my Firebolt for now."  
  
For the next week Ron and Harry were enormously busy.  
  
They rummaged through the school broom shed, but found nothing but a few Comets and Shooting Stars.  
  
They started keeping an eye on the floor for money dropped by rich, careless people.  
  
They scoured the Daily Prophet's classifieds and want ads for lost objects attached to rewards, and made inquiries at a Hogsmeade antiques shop on whether any of Ron's old junk was worth anything. It was not.  
  
They brainstormed ways of getting money, but the best idea between them was to rob Gringotts Bank, and the second best idea was to rob Draco Malfoy; and while the idea of ambushing Malfoy and making off with all his money was terribly appealing, neither idea was feasible.  
  
Harry also suggested that they ask Hermione what she thought, but Ron was decidedly against this.  
  
"She doesn't know about brooms or Quidditch," Ron said dismissively. "And anyways I don't want her nagging at me to get a job or something."  
  
Privately Harry thought Hermione would think of much better money-making methods than they could, but he complied with Ron's wishes and did not mention it to Hermione.  
  
Ron also wrote several times to the Weasleys, begging for the money to buy a broom, but the response was an emphatic no.  
  
"It's all over," Ron groaned, when his owl Pig had dropped another note saying "NO!" in his sausages at breakfast on Friday morning. It was the day before the tryouts and their last hope had just sent them a note telling them not to keep wasting Pig's energies on their futile cause.  
  
Harry and Ron toiled glumly through the day. Hermione was too wrapped up in her schoolwork-related dilemmas to notice, and for the most part the teachers assumed their depression was a side-effect of adolescence (which it was, partly). Finally their last class, Defence Against the Dark Arts, ended, but as they were trudging out the door Professor Figg called them back to her desk.  
  
"I want you to tell me, and be perfectly honest: are you planning an elaborate scheme to blow up the Astronomy Tower?"  
  
"No," Ron said dully.  
  
"Could we?" said Harry.  
  
"Well if that's not it," said Professor Figg, "what then has you two pulling such long faces? You hardly cracked a smile when I simultaneously put the Jellylegs Curse and the End-To-End Spell on Longbottom and let him wobble along the ceiling for ten minutes."  
  
"It's Quidditch," said Ron. "I wanted to try out for house team Keeper, but I haven't got a broom."  
  
"That's too bad," Professor Figg said sympathetically. "And you've already tried every way to get one?"  
  
"Nothing's worked," sighed Ron. "I suppose I have to face the fact that I'm never going to get on the team at all while I'm at school here."  
  
"I say," said Professor Figg, looking thoughtfully at Ron. "What would you do for a broom, Weasley?"  
  
"I'd kill for a broom!" Ron said enthusiastically.  
  
"Well, perhaps it wouldn't have to be such drastic action," said Professor Figg, amused.  
  
Ron's face broke out in a wide grin. "You've got a broom! You've got a broom and you're going to give it to me!"  
  
"Not give, rent," corrected Professor Figg. "I will rent out the broom to you, Weasley, in exchange for you taking care of my cats one day a week."  
  
"Your cats?" repeated Ron, and immediately was swarmed by the animals.  
  
"They're getting to be a handful, when I'm trying to grade papers or teach lessons," said Professor Figg. "I would appreciate a day off from them. You could be my cat-sitter."  
  
"The cats aren't not too bad," Harry said to Ron. "It sounds like a good deal - if the broom's decent enough."  
  
"Would you like to see it before you decide?" invited Professor Figg. She Summoned a long, narrow box from her office. Inside the box, wrapped in paper, was a sleek, polished racing broom.  
  
"What brand is this?" asked Ron as Professor Figg lifted the broom from the tissue paper.  
  
"You don't recognize it?" said Professor Figg, and lifted it out of the box. "Hold it and you'll know."  
  
Ron took the broom dubiously, but feeling its weight his eyes almost popped out of his head.  
  
"Harry! It's a Nimbus Feather-Light! I'm actually holding a genuine Feather-Light!"  
  
"What's that?" asked Harry.  
  
"You don't know? Nimbus Racing Broom Company started making them in 1972, but they were discontinued when the company went bankrupt in 1973. Nimbus started up again three years later of course, but the Feather-Light design was too expensive to re-develop. These are really rare! There are probably only about a hundred left in the world."  
  
"They were originally designed for aerobatics, barrel rolls and whatever other aerial stunts," said Professor Figg. "Of course, there wasn't much of that kind of activity back then, since it was considered a bit dangerous. But Quidditch players, especially Keepers, found that the Feather-Light lived up to its name and was almost weightless, so it was ideal for dashing around the pitch."  
  
"A pioneer of the minimalist age," agreed Ron, sounding like a Nimbus advertisement. He turned the broom over and over in his hands, awed.  
  
"Are we agreed?" asked Professor Figg, a half-smile on her face. "You get a broom for the year and I get Thursdays off?"  
  
Ron grinned and shook her hand earnestly. "It's a deal! Thank you so much, Professor."  
  
Professor Figg eyed them. "You'd better win the house league cup again this year. Go on now and practise, I've got work to do. Essays don't mark themselves, you know."  
  
The boys went straight to the Quidditch pitch with the Feather-Light, and Ron was delighted when he tried it out.  
  
"It's fast!" he called as he zipped deftly in circles round Harry. He zoomed all round the pitch, soared through a centre hoop and careened up into the sky. "Fantastic!"  
  
Harry found a Quaffle and Ron practised catching the ball. Harry discovered that Ron was in fact quite talented. He had quick reflexes for catching, and only missed three of Harry's twenty-five shots.  
  
"But of course it's easier when a Seeker's playing Chaser, you haven't got the reflexes or the strength a real Chaser has," Ron said nervously.  
  
"Thanks," Harry said sarcastically.  
  
"No, I didn't mean-"  
  
"I know, I was joking. You'll do fine, Ron. You'll get on the team."  
  
Ron turned his face up to the sun and squinting, smiled wistfully. "I hope so." 


	24. The Quidditch Tryouts

Dawn on the the next day, the day of the Quidditch tryouts, found Ron, who that night had had his recurring dream of winning the Quidditch World Cup, shaking Harry awake.  
  
"Harry, wake up! I want to go practise early."  
  
"So go," Harry mumbled into his pillow, trying to pull his covers higher over his face.  
  
"No, Harry!" Ron yanked the sheets from Harry's face, half in hysterics. "You have to come throw Quaffles for me! Please please please, I really need the practise!"  
  
Harry eventually had to give in, and they went out and practised for an hour, till Harry's limbs started to hurt. Ron had saved every shot, but was no less nervous for the practise session.  
  
"You're a natural at this," Harry said, rubbing his aching shoulders. "You've got quick reflexes and all the skills, plus a terrific broom. You'll get on the team for sure."  
  
The Gryffindor Quidditch house team tryouts began at ten-thirty, sharp. Fourteen Gryffindors showed up to try for Keeper. Ron stood with the other nervous hopefuls, clutching his Nimbus Feather-Light tightly  
  
"Good turnout," Alicia Spinnet, the team's captain and a Chaser herself, said approvingly. "All right, let's see what you can do."  
  
The tryouts were straightforward and uncomplicated. Silvestra Fawcett, the Ravenclaw Chaser, had graciously volunteered to guard the goals for the Gryffindor Keeper tryouts. The potential Keepers had to save ten shots of Silvestra's. Afterwards, they would fly through an obstacle course to test their agility. The rest of the team sat in the stands and made observations with Alicia.  
  
Harry, sitting in the stands with Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindor team, saw a few players who were quite good. Behind him Fred and George made up rude nicknames for the Keepers and kept up a running commentary of their gaffes and blunders.  
  
"Here's Triangle Face, swooping round, oh- there it goes, he's lost the Quaffle- how could he drop it? He was holding it right in his hands!"  
  
"That one's Beanpole, she's longer than her broom-"  
  
"Whoops, Beanpole's missed twice already- ah, here's Tire Tum, it's a wonder he can get off the ground at all."  
  
"Tire Tum?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Roundness in the tum is sometimes called a spare tire, my good prefect," Fred said to Hermione. "George, look at that one there, going round and round," pointing indiscreetly at the Keeper in question. "What does she think she's doing?"  
  
"What, the loop-de-looper? I guess she's warming up or something. I'm getting a bit dizzy watching it."  
  
"What is that boy down there riding, Fred, a Cleansweep Five? Awful piece of junk."  
  
"We'll name him Slowpoke."  
  
"There's Ron," said Harry, shading his eyes from the sun. "He's doing all right."  
  
"His face looks a bit like that time he was belching slugs, doesn't it?"  
  
While the seventh Keeper was having her goals test, Hermione started waving to a grey-haired figure climbing up the stands towards them.  
  
"Professor Figg, over here!"  
  
"Hello," Professor Figg said to the team, primly sitting down by them. She looked up into the cloudless blue sky. "Nice day for flying, isn't it?"  
  
"You've nearly missed our brother on your broom, Professor," Fred said.  
  
"Lucky I got here in time," said Professor Figg. "Look, there he is, he's going now. Is his face always that greenish colour? I didn't think it was... But he'll do fine, I'm sure."  
  
Ron was among the few who saved all ten shots. Then, while Ron was going through the obstacle course, Harry heard the spectators in the stands murmuring in admiration at Ron's nimble dips and dives. Once he only nearly smashed himself on a great brick wall that popped up suddenly, but he swung his weight quickly to the left, rolled over twice in the air, writhed in the air, and went on without even having slowed down. He streaked through the obstacle course, earning the fastest time of all and missing only one hoop.  
  
"The Shimmy!" cried Fred in amazement. "I didn't know Ron even knew that move!"  
  
"What a broom!" said George, slapping his knee in delight and wonderment.  
  
"What a Chaser," laughed Hermione. "Even I know he did well."  
  
"That was a magnificent performance," said Professor Figg, pleased. "Imagine him knowing how to do a Woollongong Shimmy on that Feather-Light when he's only had the broom for one day!"  
  
"A Woollongong Shimmy?" Harry repeated slowly, and he was put in mind of a conversation he'd had with Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's recognized authority on Quidditch, some years before, about an article in a Quidditch magazine. The Quidditch Quarterly had published an interview with the Montrose Magpies captain, a Keeper, and Oliver was explaining some of the more complicated moves spoken of in the interview. Harry heard Wood's eager voice in his mind: "And here he's talking about the Woolongong Shimmy, it's a bit like a zig-zag barrel roll. You can also do a double Shimmy but that's terribly difficult. Actually, this very Keeper did it in 1989 to save the Quaffle that could have won the World Cup for Nigeria but actually made England win."  
  
"How do you know about Quidditch moves, Professor?" Harry asked Professor Figg curiously. "Do you play at all?"  
  
"I'm too old to play Quidditch," Professor Figg said merrily. "I am a fan, though not as much as you or the Weasleys."  
  
"What's your team?" Fred asked her.  
  
"Montrose Magpies," Professor Figg said without hesitation. "Best in the league."  
  
"Ron's a Cannons man," Harry said, and they all laughed when Professor Figg grimaced. "But if you don't play, how'd you get that broom, Professor?"  
  
"It's- well, it's not mine. But I'm holding it for someone who- who said that I could use it if I wanted to. Only I prefer to lend it to your friend Weasley. I know he'll take care of it like- like its other owner." Was it Harry's imagination, or did the elderly woman's cheeks flush for a moment? He didn't have a chance to look closer, because George poked him in the back and said, "Here's Alicia-they're done the tryouts."  
  
"Thank you all for coming," Alicia Spinnet was saying. "You all did fabulously. Unfortunately we only have two open spots this year, but a few of us will be leaving next year, so you can try again then! We'll announce our new team member in the common room after dinner tonight."  
  
The day seemed interminable. Ron kept telling Harry he wished he had a Time-Turner to speed up the afternoon. He was so nervous that he barely touched his lunch and dinner, which was uncharacteristic of him; and he also steered clear of his homework, which was not.  
  
Finally, dinner ended. Harry saw the teachers laughing as they watched all the students scrambling to get to their respective common rooms to find out their captains' decisions. In the Gryffindor room, Ron was on tenterhooks. Harry and the twins finally coerced Ron into a game of Exploding Snap, but when Alicia entered the room and called, "Could I have your attention please?" Ron's hand slipped and the whole game blew up in their faces.  
  
"You all did marvellously today, but we can only pick one of you," said Alicia. "So our new Keeper is. drumroll please." Fred rapped out a passable rhythm on the charred tabletop. Ron's hands were clutched in white- knuckled fists. "Ronald Weasley!"  
  
Ron screamed out loud in disbelief. "What!"  
  
"You did it Ron, you're on the team!" yelled Harry over the clamour of people cheering for Ron.  
  
"Ron, we knew you could do it!" cried Hermione, and hugged him quickly.  
  
"Get up!" George said, giving Ron an encouraging push.  
  
Ron stood, his face deep crimson but split ear-to-ear by a wide grin, and accepted the applause for the new Gryffindor Keeper. 


	25. The Lestranges

In Defence Against the Dark Arts they had started studying the history of the Death Eaters, but only those who had been caught and convicted.  
  
"We do not entertain conspiracy theories in this class," Professor Figg said sternly, surveying the class with her icy blue eyes. "Only facts will be mentioned, not the names of alleged Death Eaters. Do you hear this? I want to teach you these things so you'll know what people are talking about when they mention Antonin Dolohov or Evan Rosier, both convicted Death Eaters. But if teaching you these things causes hostility between certain people, families or Hogwarts houses, I will not be allowed to teach again, ever. This is a very sensitive subject at the moment, what with the Death Eaters acting up again after the whole debâcle at last year's Triwizard Tournament."  
  
Harry feared that she would draw attention to him, but to his relief she went on talking without even letting her eyes rest on his face. Everyone else was listening so intently that they didn't turn to stare at him either.  
  
"Parchment and quills out, everyone," Professor Figg ordered. She flicked her wand and the blank slate at the front of the room suddenly filled with chalk writing. Professor Figg's tiny notes were crammed into every corner, sideways, upside, in spiral shapes, with a pretty border of coloured chalk that turned out to be-more writing. "Take it down. All of it. And listen while you write, I'm giving the lecture at the same time."  
  
The class groaned but obediently began copying at top speed while keeping their ears open to her lecture.  
  
"The first Death Eaters made themselves known in 1969, when one morning there was a giant explosion in the middle of Diagon Alley. They blew up Flourish & Blott's, probably an attempted to decimate the shops and flats all round. Forty-four were dead and seventy-nine injured, including myself. I was in the Apothecary at the time, when there was a great boom and all the windows shattered. The floorboards rippled under my feet, and things fell off the shelves on people's heads."  
  
Professor Figg was standing at the window, staring outside. "When we ran outside into the street there was a strange cloud of green sparks hanging over the ruins of Flourish & Blott's. It formed a shape that would become all too familiar over the next fifty years. It looked like this."  
  
She pointed her wand at a blank slate on the wall and a chalk picture of the Dark Mark appeared. The class gasped, and Harry shivered. Even in chalk the skull with a snake coming out of its mouth seemed to glow eerily.  
  
"I hope you never see this again in your lives," Professor Figg said softly. "Some of you may have seen it already at the Quidditch World Cup last year. Some foolish Death Eater thought that his fellow lowlifes would enjoy the reappearance of their master's emblem. This is the Dark Mark, the sign of Lord Voldemort. The Death Eaters sent it up into the sky every time they killed someone. They thought it was funny, like a cat burglar leaving a calling card in the house he's pillaged. Less than one year after the first Dark Mark appeared in the sky, it had already become the most dreaded image in the wizarding world. Coming home from work, Ministry officials did not breathe until they saw the sky was clear over their houses." She paused and the class was silent, having forgotten the notes they should have been taking and simply giving her their entire attention. "I've seen it more times than I care to count. The last tally before I stopped was twenty-five. That was in that same year of 1969."  
  
Professor Figg hesitated. "But I think I may be getting ahead of the subject. We have a lot of material to cover before your O.W.L.s in June, and it's mostly about Voldemort, but before him we had to study Grindelwald. Do any of you remember anything about Grindelwald, whom we studied last week? Yes, Miss Patil."  
  
"The evil wizard Grindelwald emerged in the world circa 1890," Parvati Patil recited. "He had a gang of followers called the Black Beasts. He invented the Imperius Curse in. in 1917."  
  
"1917 is correct," said Professor Figg. "Voldemort didn't exist yet, but Grindelwald began terrorizing the magical community in the late 1920s. I started at Hogwarts in 1937, and I became an Auror straight out of school. My career was inspired by the murder of my aunt Sophia by Grindelwald's Black Beasts when I was twelve. Sophia Neal, Neal is my maiden name, was an Auror, and her terrible death spurred in me a blazing desire to crush Grindelwald.  
  
"Some of you may already have been touched by the hand of evil in your lives, and your experiences may also have created in you a desire for vengeance. What I learned, and what you need to learn, is that rage alone will get you nowhere. You must take your anger and focus it. I channelled my rage into my studies so that I could learn the skills an Auror needs and parlayed those skills into a career of Dark wizard-hunting. Light alone will not burn, but sunlight focussed with a magnifying glass becomes strong enough to create a fire. Rage by itself does nothing. But an Auror can do things. An Auror has the power to impact the world."  
  
Harry looked round. Some people were nodding their heads to show they understood. Some were staring at Professor Figg open-mouthed like she had just told them the meaning of life. Harry smiled.  
  
Professor Figg laughed. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I tend to digress. Now, I was saying that I became an Auror right out of school. That's not an easy thing to do. To be an Auror you need perfect N.E.W.T.s, like all high-up Ministry positions."  
  
Hermione raised her hand. "Are all Aurors directly answerable to the Ministry of Magic?"  
  
"Generally yes. But there are different branches of Aurors. There are Hit Wizards, who are only technically considered Aurors. They belong to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and are mainly skilled in combat. Not the duelling type of combat, mind you, but simply force. Aurors track down Dark wizards and try to catch them, and that may include duelling; but Hit Wizards are only called in to apprehend groups of criminals, or the most dangerous criminals. Hit Wizards need near-perfect N.E.W.T.s, but not in irrelevant things like Herbology and Divination, only in things like Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and most of all Defence Against the Dark Arts, obviously.  
  
"The Dark Force Defence League is another branch of the Ministry. This is the kind of Auror career that requires perfect N.E.W.T. results in every subject because these are the most intelligent people in the Ministry, and really I'm not being conceited just because I used to work in this department.  
  
"The Dark Force Defence League was once part of the Department of Mysteries, but when it began to expand in personnel to deal with Voldemort, the Ministry was forced to make it a department of its own, and gave it sweeping powers. The Defence League never abused of its powers, however; it was only to separate it from the Ministry's other departments. You see, at the beginning of Lord Voldemort's ascent, the Dark Force Defence League had been languishing for some time, since the defeat of Grindelwald several years before. There had been few attempts of evil wizards to take power, and it was a surprise when the threat of Voldemort could not easily be quelled.  
  
"When Voldemort emerged, the Ministry of Magic had to place the Dark Force Defence League above the other departments because it was becoming increasingly more important. It went back into a state of obscurity after the fall of Voldemort fourteen years ago. Now that he may be back, the Defence League is again returning, ready to act.  
  
"The personnel of the Dark Force Defence League are the best Aurors in Britain." Harry looked up quickly from his parchment. He'd heard that phrase before. Could the Order of the Phoenix be part of the Dark Force Defence League? Harry saw Professor Figg flash a smile his way and knew that Dumbledore had informed her that Harry was in on the secret. "But they found their match in Voldemort's Death Eaters. The Death Eaters were the best-trained Dark wizards in a long time. Not since the battles with Salazar Slytherin's own privately instructed students had the Aurors met such a challenge.  
  
"At first there were only about ten or so suspected Death Eaters. Evan Rosier was in there from the beginning, as were Antonin Dolohov, Rufino Lestrange, and Travers. We'll start with Travers today. Five points to Gryffindor if someone can tell me his first name."  
  
Hermione's hand shot up into the air, cuffing Harry's ear, and Ron also raised his hand. Professor Figg selected Neville.  
  
"Halvard," Neville said softly. He looked glum. "Halvard Travers."  
  
"Excellent, Longbottom, five points. Halvard Travers, born on June 27th, 1946. His father, Halvard Senior, was convicted and sent to Azkaban because he was a Black Beast."  
  
They similarly went through the histories of Rosier and his son Sheldon, Antonin Dolohov, and Rufino Lestrange.  
  
"Now I was saying before that evil people's children often get caught up in the frenzy and join their parents, as we've seen in the Rosier family and the Travers family. Certainly it's possible that a child of a Death Eater may turn out good, or that a child of a perfectly upstanding magical family may turn out bad, but evil succeeds evil, more often than not. The Lestrange family is another example of this. Every generation of the Lestrange family has had at least one convicted wizard in it. The first historical record of a Lestrange wizard is in fact an ancient Azkaban prisoner profile." Someone giggled. "You laugh now, but they're inordinately pleased of what they think is a history of martyrdom. The Lestranges have always been slightly rebellious and anarchistic. However, it doesn't look like there will be anyone else to carry on their proud radicalist tradition now. Rufino Lestrange and his wife had only one son, Derrick, who is now in Azkaban serving numerous life sentences back-to- back, with no chance of appeal. He will die in there, if he isn't already dead."  
  
Lavender raised her hand. "Which wizard is from the famous Lestrange couple, Derrick or Rufino?"  
  
"That would be Derrick. Rufino was actually a clumsy sort of wizard. He went to school at Beauxbatons, whose educational standards are far lower than Hogwarts' or Dumstrang's. He was also blind in one eye, which was how Alastor Moody was able to get him in 1969, by creeping up behind on the left, and pow! Stunned, Disarmed and Tranfigured into a harmless toad. Rufino died in Azkaban, apprehended after his first killing." She grinned. "Lord Voldemort must have been terribly displeased.  
  
"Derrick Lestrange, however, did not turn out exactly like his father. He was sent to school here at Hogwarts, where he was sorted into Slytherin." Professor Figg frowned. "I didn't teach him, but I was an Auror and I knew who he was. Derrick was a most detestable boy. He must have been in the same year as some of your parents, I think, maybe they knew him. But he moved away to Russia in his fourth year, transferring to Durmstrang, and the next time I saw him was in London in 1975. I stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and there he was, duelling an Auror in the middle of Charing Cross Road. In broad daylight, amidst the rush of Muggle traffic! It made for a massive load of Memory Charms, I tell you, and a giant pile of paperwork. Utter chaos at the Ministry, which I suppose was his goal.  
  
"That was his first appearance since officially becoming a Death Eater, and what was peculiar was that he never denied his association with Voldemort. He openly challenged the Dark Force Defence League, and me in particular. I was already a senior minister with the Dark Force Defence League in 1975, and since he felt compelled to attack me personally, I was the one who dealt with him the most."  
  
"Why did he attack you, Professor?"  
  
"I don't really know," Professor Figg said. Harry thought she did but didn't want to tell them. "But we had our own feud going on, as a kind of subtext to the war with Voldemort. Whenever we met we duelled to near- death, and when he didn't feel like duelling he played tricks. It was a game to him. I sent a Death Eater friend of his to Azkaban, so he found out where I lived and set Horklumps all over my garden. In a duel I took off a chunk of his ear, so he broke into the Ministry archives office and performed a Whirlwind Spell. Eighteen hundred years of paperwork, mixed up together on the floor in a flurry of parchment. That was a dark day for the Ministry."  
  
"Mum's told us about that day. Dad came home pale and shaking," Ron whispered to Harry. "Percy cries every time he hears that story."  
  
Professor Figg was still talking. "Then I set up a covert operation to capture Derrick's wife, and he went after my husband and killed him."  
  
All the students jumped.  
  
"What?" Harry said.  
  
"Well, I told you it was a personal war. Derrick Lestrange married in January 1975 and turned his wife into a Death Eater. Maldora Lestrange became just as bad as he was, killing anyone who opposed her. They claimed Voldemort would soon rule the world, and they would be at the forefront of his crusade. During their honeymoon in Paris, France, Maldora killed a girl named Honoura Prewett, who was part of the old Prewett wizarding family. In the wizarding world old bloodlines count for a lot, as you all know. The crime was the first in a long list of murders and uses of the Unforgivable Curses by the Lestranges, and a lot of pressure was placed on the Ministry to capture them and send them to Azkaban.  
  
"So I formulated a plan to trap Maldora Lestrange in a location we suspected was a Death Eater meeting place. And it almost worked! We had her cornered. But then Voldemort arrived unexpectedly, and took her back. But. we were so close!" Professor Figg's hand clenched into a fist and she pounded Seamus' desk. "We caught some Death Eaters that day, but most of them escaped, including the Lestranges. Then the two of them tracked down my husband and murdered him. It was retaliation.  
  
"In 1980 we finally we got them. An Auror called Mundungus Fletcher used inside information gathered by one of our spies to catch Derrick Lestrange. By order of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, there was no trial, and Lestrange was sent straight to Azkaban. Then on Christmas in 1981, my department was successful in apprehending Maldora Lestrange. And there was no one to save her then. She, too, was sent to prison without a trial.  
  
"And that's the end of today's lecture," Professor Figg said, smiling with a cheeriness that Harry could see through like glass. "Tomorrow we'll take a look at some specific mass killings. For homework, read the Death Eater biographies on pages 171-177 in the textbook!"  
  
The bell signifying the end of class rang, and everyone began scribbling frantically because they had been listening to the lecture and not copying the notes as they should have been. 


	26. Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw

The weekend right after the new Quidditch teams were formed, the first Quidditch matches were held.  
  
"Rather early start this year," Ron said to Harry during Divination. Professor Trelawney overheard and glided over to them.  
  
"I can tell you why the Quidditch season is starting early," she said in her soft, wavering voice that usually annoyed Harry, but now made him curious.  
  
"How would you know?" Ron asked insolently, forgetting his manners. Professor Trelawney was piqued.  
  
"The cards will tell you," she said brusquely. She pointed to Ron's Tarot cards, lying on the table. "Go on. Shuffle and deal them out."  
  
Ron obeyed, rather nervously because he had to keep glancing at his textbook to see how the cards should be arranged. Professor Trelawney waited. Ron finished placing the cards and peered at them. "Er."  
  
"Look!" Professor Trelawney said, losing her patience again. She pointed at the cards. "The High Priestess! The Hermit! The Two of Swords reinforcing the Moon! What are they saying to you?"  
  
Ron blanched. Seeing this, Professor Trelawney rolled her eyes. "It means an early and extremely cold winter, Mr. Weasley. Now I will ask you both not to discuss sports in class, and concentrate instead on Divination, the skills of which you are both sorely lacking!" She swept away.  
  
All the teams practised themselves half to death because they were all infected with an ardent desire to take the Quidditch Cup, which last year had remained silently in the trophy room. No one would miss a practise or not give themselves over wholly to the game, not under the strict regime of this year's four determined captains.  
  
Alicia Spinnet proved to be an excellent leader for the Gryffindor team. She was fiercely committed to the game and was trying hard not to follow after Oliver Wood too much. She had a tendency to overwork herself, though.  
  
"It's horribly difficult being captain," she said breathlessly over breakfast on Saturday. She had dark circles under her eyes, because, as she explained, she had to stay up all night to finish her homework and plan out Quidditch tactics. She hadn't slept a wink in two days.  
  
"It's not a war, Alicia," George Weasley said, amazed. "You're not the Viscount Wellington! It's just Quidditch. You're working yourself too hard."  
  
"But I want us to win!" Alicia exclaimed petulantly. "I've convinced myself that if I plan everything now, there'll be less to do later."  
  
"It makes sense in theory," Fred Weasley admitted.  
  
"So does Communism," retorted George, "and don't you remember how that turned out for Russia?"  
  
"Brace yourself, here comes Malfoy," Harry said to Ron. "Slytherin are playing Hufflepuff today, he's probably coming to have one more ridicule for good luck."  
  
"Well, Weasley, you've finally gotten on your house team," sneered Malfoy, customary smirk in place. "Now however did you manage it? The question of your genuine athletic merit is certainly questionable-"  
  
"Shut up," Ron said, face flaming.  
  
"-and obviously you could never have paid your way in," Malfoy went on loftily.  
  
"Like you did?" Ron snapped.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Weasley. In my case the Slytherin captain was bright enough to recognize my evident talents as a Seeker and to select me, without the trouble of me having to try out like a common applicant." Malfoy smiled archly. "Our captain was clever and qualified. Which is more than I can say for some other alleged leaders."  
  
"What are you saying?" Alicia demanded, narrowing her eyes at Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but closed it quickly, looking at someone over Alicia's shoulder. The Gryffindors turned to see Professor Sprout scurrying up.  
  
"Good morning, Gryffindors," she said cheerily. "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy, all set for today's match against my house?"  
  
"Perfectly ready, Professor," Malfoy said coolly. "Slytherin are especially determined to win today, because the team that wins today plays the one that wins tomorrow, who, Alicia here was just saying, is going to be Gryffindor."  
  
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I have great faith that Hufflepuff are going to win today!" Professor Sprout said. "As for tomorrow's game, it will be close. Ravenclaw have had the most practise time this week, I believe. Miss Spinnet, what do you think?" she asked, turning to Alicia, then recoiled. "Miss Spinnet, what happened to you? You look like a ghost!"  
  
"Or a vampire, with those dark circles under your eyes," joked George.  
  
Malfoy frowned. "I find that remark in bad taste."  
  
"I find your face in bad taste, but you don't hear me whining about it," Fred responded, speaking softly so that Professor Sprout would not hear.  
  
"Perhaps you should get some rest before your team's first match tomorrow," Professor Sprout said kindly to Alicia before walking away to see the Hufflepuffs.  
  
"Good luck tomorrow," Malfoy said, with that smirk that Harry dearly wanted to hit. "You'll need it. Unlike Slytherin, the team that relies on skill and cunning, Gryffindor survives simply by fluke." He walked away before any of them could get up to strike him.  
  
That morning Hufflepuff lost to Slytherin, 180-70 points. The next day dawned with a clear sky and a bright yellow sun that shone down on a full stadium of people, all waving banners and cheering. Harry and Ron waited with the rest of the team in the changing room, listening to the noisome crowds and to a panicked Alicia, going over the plays for the twentieth time.  
  
"Nervous?" Harry asked Ron.  
  
"Yeah," Ron squeaked. He anxiously twitched his new Quidditch robes, which were deep red with gold trim at the hems and down the front.  
  
"All you have to do is remember everything I just told you," Alicia said to him.  
  
Ron looked at her in alarm. "Were you talking just now?"  
  
The bleachers were packed as Hermione climbed up to meet Lavender, Neville, Parvati, Seamus and Dean just before the start of the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match.  
  
"Come on, sit down, Hermione, the game's about to start!" Lavender cried.  
  
Hermione sat between Lavender and Neville and pulled out her Omnioculars, a souvenir from the Quidditch World Cup the year before. "There they are!" she said, seeing the Gryffindor team burst onto the pitch in a flurry of scarlet and gold.  
  
"There's Harry," Lavender said, pointing him out high above their heads.  
  
"Ron's down at the end," Seamus said, pressing his own Omnioculars to his eyes.  
  
Hermione trained her binoculars on Ron, who was flying effortlessly through the golden hoops and laughing as he did a barrel roll in the air. "He's really good," she said in wonder.  
  
"He's a natural flier," Neville said glumly, wishing he could fly on a broom as well as Ron and impress girls.  
  
"The players are out on the pitch now, and ready to go," Lee Jordan shouted into the magical megaphone that allowed him to narrate the action of the game for the entire stadium. "Here comes the referee, the marvellous Madam Hooch."  
  
"Captains!" Madam Hooch called. Alicia and Graham Grosvenor, a short, spiky-haired blond seventh-year boy with sparkling blue eyes and a rosy complexion, faced off above her.  
  
"Good luck," Alicia said politely to the Ravenclaw captain, a Chaser.  
  
The pinkness of Graham Grosvenor's cheeks deepened. "You too."  
  
Madam Hooch opened her hand and the Golden Snitch flitted away and vanished. Then she tossed the Quaffle up and released the Bludgers, and the game began.  
  
"Gryffindor in possession," Lee Jordan said excitedly, "Spinnet has the Quaffle, and she throws to Bell. who is looking very attractive today, I might add-"  
  
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall said sternly. "Watch the game, not the girls!"  
  
"Sorry, Professor. Bell takes a shot-deflected by Fawcett! Stebbins takes the Quaffle, passes to Grosvenor-oh, Grosvenor's hit by a Bludger! Fred, that was a great shot! The Quaffle's taken by Spinnet, passes to Angelina Johnson, Johnson takes it into the Ravenclaw end-she ducks a Bludger, quick reflexes on her-scores! A spectacular shot all the way from the left side! Ten points to Gryffindor!"  
  
The Gryffindors in the bleachers cheered.  
  
Angelina scored twice more in a row, then lost the Quaffle to Ravenclaw when he dodged a Bludger. Grosvenor scored once then, making the score 30- 10 for Gryffindor. Katie Bell took the tip of a Hawkshead Attacking Formation, a V-shape intended to frighten the other team out of the way, and it succeeded, pushing the score to 40-10. But Ravenclaw came back with two more goals. Ron looked furious. "It's an exciting match," Lee declared, and the crowd heartily agreed with him.  
  
In fact, the match was so exciting with the Quaffle and the two Bludgers that no one noticed the absence of the fourth ball, the Golden Snitch. Harry observed all of the action from high above the pitch, where he usually stayed during the games so that he would see the Snitch immediately when it appeared. Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, flew up to the same altitude and squinted down at the pitch, also looking for the Snitch. Harry felt uneasy being near Cho, because he had once liked her a lot, until last year, when she took up with Cedric Diggory, causing him no end of disappointment and jealousy.  
  
Cho also seemed subdued. They hovered in the air ten feet from each other, the roar of the crowd filling up the silence. Finally Cho called out to him, "Nice day for Quidditch."  
  
"Yeah," Harry called back.  
  
"Yesterday was cloudy," Cho said.  
  
"It rained a lot," Harry said. "During the Hufflepuff-Slytherin match."  
  
"Did you go?"  
  
"Yeah, I was drenched." They both ducked to evade a stray Bludger.  
  
When she was right-side up, Cho looked at her wristwatch. "It's been nearly half an hour, and I still can't see the Snitch anywhere!"  
  
"I haven't seen it once," Harry realized.  
  
Cho shrugged. "Me neither. But no one's even looking at us, they're all following the action down below. Your friend Ron's rather good."  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, squinting. "Can you see the score?"  
  
"I think it's 70-50, Gryffindor." She sighed at another explosion of cheering from the crowd. "80-50, Gryffindor." She craned her neck and scanned the cloudless sky. "Maybe it's up above our heads somewhere?"  
  
"This is going to be a long game," Harry said. He settled in more comfortably on his Firebolt to watch the game below them. Stebbins, a Ravenclaw Chaser, launched the ball at the leftmost Gryffindor ring, while Ron was far off to the right, he was off like a shot, a blur of scarlet and gold-  
  
Harry did a double take and looked down at his uniform. There was no gold trim at the collar, but there was gold on Ron's. The Golden Snitch! It was racing along the goal hoops with Ron, close to his right ear.  
  
Harry plunged down, speeding towards Ron. "Hey!" he heard Cho cry behind him, because she had just noticed him dashing off.  
  
"Gryffindor in possession," Lee Jordan shouted, "Weasley tosses the Quaffle to Bell, she's off to the Ravenclaw end, takes the shot- and Fawcett's too slow! Bell scores again- but what the devil? Harry, what're you doing? Potter! And Chang right behind Potter- Potter's seen the Snitch! Go, Potter- look out, Weasley!"  
  
Harry shot straight at Ron, with Cho close on his tail. She'd seen the Snitch as well by now, but she was too slow to overtake him. Ron was focused on the Quaffle and was still oblivious to them and the Snitch, but when the entire stadium screamed, "Weasley!" Ron looked up wildly, and realized Harry was bearing down on him at top speed. Two feet away, Harry lunged forward off the Firebolt, hands outstretched.  
  
"Har-" Ron's yelp was cut off by Harry colliding with him with a crunch, knocking him off the Feather-Light broomstick.  
  
Whoosh. The stadium was momentarily filled with the sound of several hundred people gasping simultaneously.  
  
Cho Chang shrieked as both boys hurtled towards the ground.  
  
Fortunately for Ron, five feet above the ground, the Feather-Light broomstick caught him and bore him away safely. However, Harry realized that the Firebolt was not built to catch him, and he tucked himself into a ball so he wouldn't flatten himself on impact. He hit the grass, bruising himself in the process, and did several somersaults. When his momentum had run out he lay spread out on the grass, dazed. The entire stadium leaned forward, waiting. Then his hand fell open, revealing the Golden Snitch.  
  
"Gryffindor wins!" shouted Madam Hooch, and the crowd exploded in gales of jubilation. 


	27. Spies Abroad

Paris, France: the city of light, the city of romance, of lovers strolling along the Seine, of shy flirtation, of secretive trysts in quiet rooms. It was late afternoon, and the Jardins des Tuileries, the beautiful open gardens in the centre of the city, were full of tourists milling aimlessly and people walking home from work.  
  
Two men sat on a bench, conversing quietly. They had a clear view of everything happening in the Tuileries. One was arguing his point on the modern merits of Jean-Paul Sartre's early works when his companion nudged him.  
  
"Pierre, chut!" he whispered, pointing out a businesswoman walking briskly in from the street, entering the gardens from a gate near their bench. Her hand slipped discreetly into her attaché case and came out with a small, thick envelope, blank on both sides but sealed securely with the stamp of an old British family.  
  
It happened very fast. The businesswoman marched past an old man tossing seed to the birds, and dropped the envelope on the pavement. A pigeon immediately snapped it up in its beak and flew off. The two Frenchmen on the bench watched silently as the pigeon flew over the pond and let the envelope drop onto the deck of one of the scale-model sailboats that floated in the water. The boat drifted all the way across the pond to a pleasant rosy-cheeked man, who removed the envelope and placed it behind him on the path. A child in a passing pram threw his toy on top of the envelope and his mother bent to retrieve it, taking the envelope as well. She pushed the carriage on, heading towards the exit of the gardens, and dropped the envelope at the feet of a tattered beggar before leaving the Tuileries at the opposite end from where the businesswoman had entered.  
  
The Frenchmen observed this whole chain of events without saying a word. Now they both stared at the beggar. A thin hand emerged from the pile of rags shrouding the man and drew the envelope towards him. The envelope disappeared inside the sleeve of his frayed raiment.  
  
Then the beggar rose and walked out of the Tuileries. The Frenchmen stood, drew their wands and followed him. "Let's follow him, it may be the famous Sirius Black," said Pierre in French.  
  
It didn't take long for them to almost catch up to the beggar. The vagrant, sensing that he was being followed, began to speed up. He tipped his head to the side, and the Frenchmen, feeling the keen gaze eyeing them from under the shabby pointed hat, busied themselves admiring a street vendor's cheap wares. The beggar walked faster and the Frenchmen abandoned all pretence of subtlety and began pushing people aside to catch up to the vagabond. The beggar broke into a run. He wove between pedestrians and onto the road, dashing across just before the light changed. The Frenchmen lost him in the crowd on the other side of the street.  
  
"Come on Jean, let's Apparate after him," said Pierre in French to his friend.  
  
"Where? We do not know where he is going. Instead we should go to Voldemort. Perhaps he will reward us for the information of Black's whereabouts."  
  
"The information Lord Voldemort wanted was in the letter that changed hands in the park!" Pierre snapped. "We were instructed to follow the letter to Black, but now we've lost both! And Black will probably not stay in the city very long, not now that he has his envelope."  
  
"Lord Voldemort will be furious!" said Jean, wringing his hands. "Could we not even guess at the contents of that envelope? If we have nothing to tell him we'll be killed!"  
  
Across the street Sirius Black stripped off the vagabond rags and hurried down the sidewalk in the Muggle clothes he wore underneath. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Frenchmen stuck on the other side of the street, and he smiled and ducked into a deserted alleyway. There he pulled the precious envelope out of his sleeve and ripped it open. Inside was a thin stack of redirected mail and a small sealed plastic bag of silver powder.  
  
Sirius dove into his mail first of all. One coded message each from Remus Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher, Arabella Figg, and Albus Dumbledore, and two regular messages, from Harry Potter. Sirius first opened the latter and read hungrily of Harry's summer, his nightmares, the pain in his scar, Arabella Figg's disclosure, his first week back at Hogwarts. Then he read the letters from Lupin, Fletch and Figg, all written in ancient runes. They all mainly said the same thing, in heavily veiled code: something was happening in Britain, but none of them understood exactly what.  
  
Lastly the letter from Dumbledore was opened and read. This one was clearly the most important, being written in Sumerian cuneiform, an obsolete writing used nowadays only in highly classified documents of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
"B: [it said] Trouble here. Strange veiled hints from Voldemort, but about what? Snape being excluded from Death Eater intelligence. Need you to spy here. Plan may centre on Potter's death. Security inadequate, need agents. Gather as many field agents on continent as possible and come back. Floo powder enclosed. D."  
  
Sirius frowned, puzzled. What the devil could Voldemort be planning? Chances were, he was plotting a grand re-entry onto the world stage. Sirius groaned. Bella Figg had once told him that Voldemort was obsessed with Harry, the cause of his downfall. And the murder of Harry Potter, boy- hero, would be completely shattering to the magical community. That was it, then: Voldemort was cooking up a major scheme to kill Harry once and for all, and thus re-emerge on the scene after his fourteen-year absence. How would he do it? A knife in the dark? A hex furtively executed in the midst of a crowd? An abduction and a duel, like before? A full-blown war to crush every witch and wizard who opposed Voldemort's rule, and to draw Harry out of hiding for his ultimate termination on a battlefield?  
  
Sirius took a deep breath. Perhaps he was overreacting. The timing of these instructions' arrival was auspicious: he had been missing his godson a lot lately. He would get to see Harry in person for the first time since the night of Voldemort's resurrection in June. Sirius smiled to himself as he gathered together his letters and the Floo powder, then Apparated out of the city to find the other Phoenixes. 


	28. Mundungus Fletcher

On Wednesday Harry, Ron and Hermione were the first ones into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and they were surprised to find Professor Figg sitting on her desk, laughing with a strange man. Harry and Hermione hung back uncertainly, but Ron gave an exclamation and walked straight in.  
  
"Fletcher?"  
  
The man turned round and grinned widely. "Well well well! Wee Ronnie Weasley, I haven't seen you in ages!"  
  
Harry couldn't help staring at him, though he knew it was rude. The man was over six feet tall and frighteningly well-built, with a round, egg- shaped bald head sitting atop huge, broad shoulders. He looked rather more like the leader of some sort of violent American mobster motorbike gang than a peaceable British wizard.  
  
"This is Mundungus Fletcher, an Auror friend of mine," Professor Figg said.  
  
"You can call me Fletch," said the wizard cheerily. His educated tones clearly set him apart from the mobster image.  
  
"Fletch's a friend of my parents'," Ron explained to Harry and Hermione. "He cheats at cards."  
  
"I do not!" Fletch said. "Ron's a wicked little rogue. He marked his cards."  
  
"Those were Bill's cards and you told him to do it!" Ron shot back, and they both grinned.  
  
"Fletch, these three are fifth-year Gryffindors," Professor Figg said. "Ron Weasley you know, and here are Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."  
  
Fletch caught up Hermione's hand in his large paw and shook it enthusiastically. "Delighted to meet you, Hermione," he said, and he certainly looked like it, with the great big grin that cracked his face in half.  
  
Then he turned to Harry. "May I say, I think you look rather a lot like Lily. We were friends a long time ago, you know." He lowered his voice. "Harry, I'm here on behalf of Snuffles."  
  
Harry jumped. "Sirius?"  
  
"Sirius Black?" Ron said, surprised.  
  
"Hush, hush! Yes. He's fine, but he can't come himself. So he sent the next best thing-me! I've wanted to meet you dreadfully for such a long time."  
  
Harry felt a little embarassed. "Here I am."  
  
Fletch beamed. "Why, I remember when you were just a wee little baby! I could hold you in one hand, you were so tiny." He shook his head.  
  
Then the rest of the class walked in and they had to hurry to get seats at the front.  
  
"Today we have a guest speaker," Professor Figg said. "Mundungus Fletcher, whom we have learned about, will tell you about his career as an Auror. Fletch?"  
  
Fletch stepped forward and acknowledged the smattering of applause with a wave of his hand. Everyone suddenly noticed that his left hand was missing the index finger. The clapping paused.  
  
Fletch smiled. "You've noticed the missing finger." There was an uncomfortable silence. "It's all right," Fletch assured them. "Curiosity is natural. You want to know where it went? I don't even know myself. I lost it in a duel with the Death Eater Derrick Lestrange about two years before most of you were born.  
  
"At that time, Voldemort was at the pinnacle of his power trip, though we didn't know at the time that he would be gone a few years later. But Death Eaters were strutting along the street like they already owned the world. Naturally we Aurors had to protect our honour, so whenever we saw an enemy there would be a huge clash. Mad-Eye Moody was the biggest dueller of us all. You've seen how scarred he is, you can imagine what kind of brawls he must have gotten into.  
  
"I was a junior Ministry Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That morning Professor Figg got in a big duel in front of Madam Malkin's with a man suspected of Death Eater involvement, and was detained by Ministry Hit Wizards for making a disturbance."  
  
The surprised students looked at Professor Figg, who put one hand on her forehead and sighed wearily, as if she had wanted to forget it.  
  
"Don't believe it?" laughed Fletch. "Arabella Figg was a real troublemaker back then, and it didn't help that she was suspicious of everything. Everybody was a Death Eater or a potential Death Eater, in her opinion." Professor Figg frowned slightly. "The rest of us retreated to the Leaky Cauldron, our usual haunt, to debate the issue. I was standing on a table, making a stirring speech about something or other when I stabbed my finger in the air to emphasize my point-and suddenly it wasn't there anymore, and Derrick Lestrange was standing alone in the doorway with his wand raised at me, grinning like a fiend.  
  
"Now about Lestrange: the Ministry had about twenty or thirty criminal charges conclusively pinned on him by then, but he'd somehow managed to elude us for over three years. He was cutting it very close by being in London, especially so near to the Ministry offices.  
  
"Yet there he stood, with his arrogant smirk that I hated. 'I thought you were a poorer shot, Lestrange,' I said to him. 'What were you aiming for, my leg?'  
  
" 'Perhaps 'twas the fickle finger of Fate,' said Lestrange, 'but at least I'm not the one always pointing the finger of scorn. You think I can't slip through your fingers this time, Fletch my friend? Come on and duel me then! Or are you all thumbs? Does the right hand forget its cunning?' "  
  
"So you fought him?" Dean Thomas asked. "With an injury?"  
  
"Would you not have done the same? I felt compelled to avenge my missing finger."  
  
"Why couldn't you simply reattach it?" Hermione wanted to know.  
  
Fletch grinned. "Would that it were so easy! No, Hermione, though medical technology has advanced in leaps and bounds since that time, the spells for reattaching or creating new limbs was still in developmental stages, and unfortunately no representative of St. Mungo's medical research institute was present on that day."  
  
"Do go on, you're getting off topic," said Professor Figg, looking bored.  
  
"Quite right, my dear. Where was I? Ah yes, the duel. He started with a Disarming Charm, but I fired a beer glass at his face and he lost his concentration and merely made a button fall off my shirt. I tried a Full- Body Bind, but he blocked it and came back with a giant yellow fireball. Naturally I used a Flame-Freezing Charm, but he was ready with a spell that caused three snakes to leap out the end of his wand straight at my face."  
  
Fletch told them about that and other duels. He recapped the history of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, because, as he said with a grin, "the man's never going to come back here to tell you himself, and I can't say I blame him." Fletch replayed the finest moments in his career, including the capture of Derek Lestrange.  
  
"We had a spy on the inside who found out where Lestrange was going to be on a certain day, and I simply had to arrange to be there at the same time. He was hiding out at a friend's house at Inverness in northern Scotland, and with the help of our spy I nabbed Lestrange outside the property."  
  
He rubbed his hands together and grinned. "It was beautiful! He was walking out the iron gates and I stepped out of the shadows and demanded a wizarding duel. Lestrange was terribly shocked that I'd found him, but he could hardly resist, and during the duel he walked right into a cursing snare. You see, when you've got enough skill and experience you start to figure out which spells you like best in a duel, and you use them more often and in certain orders, and if someone else knows which spells are your best and which are your worst, they can defeat you easily. It's a bit like playing chess, they're both about strategy. Lestrange used a lot of the same curses, especially the Unforgivable Curses. Cruciatus was his best one. He practised it so much that he had that one down to a light, loose flick of the wrist. But just when he raised his wand to Cruciatus me, I threw a Patronus at him. Arabella Figg devised that one for me," he said, bowing to Professor Figg. "She's a brilliant defense strategist. She figured out that if I could get a really frightening, well-timed Patronus in before Lestrange started his Cruciatus, I could scare him long enough to possibly put in a Stunning Spell. So I practised my Patronus for weeks beforehand, and by the time of the duel it was fabulous. A solid silver Manticore lunging out the end of my wand straight at Lestrange's throat. He half-fainted, and I had thrown a Stunner just after the Patronus, so it knocked him out right afterwards."  
  
The bell rang then.  
  
"No homework!" called Professor Figg, and the students cheered.  
  
Harry was stuffing his textbooks into his schoolbag when a broad silhouette fell across his desk.  
  
"Harry," said Fletch, "would you take a walk with me? I'd like to speak with you privately."  
  
Harry looked to Ron, who shrugged.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said to Fletch. "Sure. I guess I'll see you later," he said to Ron and Hermione.  
  
"See you," said Hermione, looking quizzically at Fletch. 


	29. Gift of the Animagus

Harry and Fletch walked down the halls of the school, talking companiably. They reached the front doors and Fletch continued to stride forward, starting across the lawn into the cold, crisp autumn air. Harry followed him, uncertain, because they were not moving in the direction of Hogsmeade village, the only place that Fletch could catch a ride off Hogwarts property. Instead they went round the castle and headed towards the Forbidden Forest.  
  
"Harry," Fletch began, "do you remember how you got out of Godric's Hollow, that night when Voldemort fell?"  
  
Harry was puzzled. "I know Hagrid took me, but I don't really remember it at all."  
  
"Yes. Hagrid was the one who removed who from the smoking ruins of your parents' house."  
  
Harry became aware of a low, distant growling noise. "Do you hear that?"  
  
"Hear what?" said Fletch. "So you really have no memories of that night? You don't know how you got to the Dursleys'?"  
  
Harry recalled a conversation he, Ron and Hermione had overheard in the Three Broomsticks. "Hagrid borrowed Sirius Black's motorcycle." He thought of something he had accidentally confessed to Uncle Vernon, a long time ago. "You know, once I dreamed of a giant flying motorcycle."  
  
Fletch grinned. "Did you?"  
  
The growling noise was like thunder, shaking the earth itself.  
  
"Did Sirius ever tell you that he grew up in a Muggle neighbourhood?" said Fletch. "He lived next to an auto garage. He helped the mechanics mend cars and he learned all about motors and engines and all that Muggle automobile technology."  
  
The rumbling was getting louder and louder as they approached Hagrid's cabin.  
  
"Sirius built the bike himself," Fletch said. "He adored it. It caused him great distress to have to leave it with me when he went to Azkaban. Even now he can't use it, because as you know, he's on espionage missions for the Order of the Phoenix. But I hung onto it for him for all these years, until he told me what he wanted to do with it."  
  
The rumbling shook the ground under their feet. They were almost at Hagrid's cabin. Harry looked up at his companion.  
  
"Go," said Fletch, and Harry broke into a run.  
  
He sprinted to the cabin, racing round to the pumpkin patch in the back, turned the corner, and skidded to a stop.  
  
In the middle of the pumpkin patch sat Hagrid, atop a huge motorbike with a great rumbling engine that sounded like the purr of a giant lion. He beamed down at Harry.  
  
"Hi, Harry! Like the bike?"  
  
Harry gaped foolishly.  
  
Fletch came round the cabin and grinned at them. "Hagrid my friend, how goes it in your neck of the woods?"  
  
"All's well up here," Hagrid said, climbing off the motorcycle and shaking Fletch's hand enthusiastically. Fletch came up to Hagrid's shoulders. Harry felt dwarfed by the two colossal men.  
  
"Do you know each other?" he asked.  
  
"Of course! Hagrid was gamekeeper when I was a student," Fletch said.  
  
"Are you part giant too?" Harry asked, before he remembered that it was boorish to talk about giants in the wizarding world. But neither Fletch and Hagrid was bothered.  
  
"The difference between Hagrid and me is that I DID swallow a bottle of Skele-gro when I was little," said Fletch, then both men roared with laughter at Harry's face. "I'm only pulling your leg, Harry you great lout," chuckled Fletch, "don't you know that drinking a bottle of Skele-gro would kill you? Your skin doesn't expand to fit the growing bones, so you'd literally burst out of your skin. Actually, my great-grandfather was a giant, an ally of Grindelwald. My family's heritage put us at odds with other so-called pureblood wizarding families, but I feel that I've shown those snobs what a wizard with giant blood can make of himself."  
  
"A real inspiration for the rest of us," said Hagrid, wiping away a tear. Fletch patted him on the back.  
  
"Harry, this is your motorcycle," Fletch said. "Sirius wants you to have it because he knows you'll take good care of it, whereas I, being no lover of Muggle contraptions, kept it under a sheet in a dark corner of my house." He scrutinized the motorcycle. "I must admit, Sirius was a clever mechaniwizard. The machine magically changes size to fit the rider, and has a Balancing Charm on it so that you can't fall off unless you jump. Sometimes I think Sirius would have been better suited to Arthur Weasley's Muggle Artefacts department. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten into so much trouble." He sighed, then smiled at Harry and gestured to the motorbike. "Go on, try it out."  
  
"It's great fun," Hagrid added.  
  
Harry suspected Hagrid only liked the machine because its engine sounded like the roar of a monstrous beast, but he did not give voice to his qualms, and approached the idling motorcycle cautiously, having never been near one before. Dudley had once had a non-motorized racing bike, which may have kept him from reaching the proportions that he currently held if he'd used it more often, but Dudley often enjoyed asking for things merely for taunting Harry with. Harry had never so much as touched a bike of any kind in his life.  
  
He carefully swung one leg over the seat and hauled himself on. To his surprise, it shrank to fit him.  
  
"Yeh have to kickstart it," said Hagrid.  
  
Harry pulled back one foot and kicked the machine with his heel. Immediately the idling machine jolted into life and roared up into the air.  
  
The motorcycle launched itself high over the heads of Fletch and Hagrid and soared through the sky over the castle. Harry cried out in panic and gripped the handlebars tightly. It was nothing like a broom. Harry could control the Firebolt, unlike this machine, which seemed to have a mind of its own. He wondered how he was supposed to steer. He tilted his weight to the left, but only made the motorcycle swerve in the air and turn round. It roared back down towards Hagrid's cabin. A crash looked imminent-but Harry managed to pull up and landed with an earth-shaking thud in front of Fletch and Hagrid. The motorcycle engine dropped into an innocent purr again.  
  
The two men grinned at him. "How did you like it?" Fletch asked.  
  
Harry was about to answer that it was disagreeable, but his face involuntarily split into a smile. "It's fantastic!" he blurted out, suddenly realizing why Sirius had loved the great machine.  
  
Hagrid advised him to keep his head down when kicking up the machine, if he didn't want to take off into the air. Harry tried this, and the purring turned back into a roar as the motorcycle took off on the ground. Harry steered it across the lawn, where strangely it left no trace on the grass, and past the front doors of the school, on the road to the town of Hogsmeade. Hagrid and Fletch ran after him, both laughing like mad.  
  
The motorcycle took Harry all the way into Hogsmeade, halting in front of the Three Broomsticks pub. Harry was climbing off when a slim, dark-haired woman came out of the pub and smiled at Harry. Harry recognized Perdita Clemens, the Phoenix who had burst into Dumbledore's office the other night.  
  
"Harry Potter," she said. "It's nice to see you again."  
  
"Hello," Harry said, pleased that she was more civil to him today. He noticed a bump on her slender figure that he had not seen in the dim light in Dumbledore's office. Perdita was several months pregnant.  
  
Perdita indicated the motorcycle. "Is it Snuffles'?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry. "He's giving it to me though."  
  
Perdita smiled placidly. "He is a kind godfather, isn't he? Perhaps he will consent to becoming a godfather again." She touched her stomach.  
  
"What are you naming your baby?" Harry asked.  
  
Perdita made a vague movement with her hand. "We haven't decided yet. Albus, Mundungus, Theophrastus. So many lovely names." Her eyes were bright as she rubbed her stomach.  
  
Hagrid and Fletch caught up to them then, out of breath from their run. Hagrid patted the motorcycle fondly while Fletch took Perdita Clemens' small hand and kissed it.  
  
"My darling," he said tenderly.  
  
Perdita smiled. "Mundungus my dear."  
  
"I don't believe you know my fiancee Perdita," Fletch said to Harry.  
  
"Dumbledore has introduced us," said Perdita. "Harry's just been asking about the baby."  
  
Hagrid stooped by Perdita and touched her stomach gently. "Have yeh named 'im yet? Rubeus is a nice name," he said hopefully.  
  
Fletch and Perdita laughed. "Maybe, Hagrid," Fletch said. "I only hope he'll have his mother's fiery Spanish features."  
  
Perdita smiled demurely. Harry was amused that she did not disprove the compliment.  
  
"Have you had any news of Snuffles recently?" Perdita enquired. When Harry gloomily shook his head, she smiled. "I think you will, quite soon. Perhaps from a local post owl?" she said, gesturing to the post office. Taking Fletch's arm, she nodded to Hagrid and Harry. "Good-bye for now."  
  
Harry stared after them. "Does she mean Si- er, Snuffles is coming back here?"  
  
"If Perdita Clemens says it, it must be true," Hagrid said. "She'd know. She's high up in the. Ministry." Hagrid looked dejected. Harry had noticed Hagrid jealously eyeing the gold rings on Fletch's and Perdita's fingers.  
  
"Are you not in the. ah, Ministry, Hagrid?"  
  
Hagrid shot him a searching look. "I hope to be."  
  
So Fudge still had some influence on the Order of the Phoenix. "One day you'll get your ring, Hagrid."  
  
Hagrid grinned. "I reckon we both will, Harry! Someday." 


	30. Is it Hermione?

It was Thursday evening and Ron, Harry and Hermione were doing homework in the Herbology section in the northwest corner of the library, while five cats prowled about their feet like furry security guards.  
  
"How many sultanas are in a Knockout Concoction?" Ron asked.  
  
"Two," Harry and Hermione answered in unison without looking up from their work.  
  
"Thanks," Ron said, scribbling away.  
  
"Meow," remarked Snowball, bounding onto the table.  
  
"Get off," Harry said, and gave the cat a little push. Snowball, volatile as she always was, was affronted by this shove and expressed her indignation by taking a slash at Harry's Herbology essay.  
  
"Aaagh!" Harry grabbed his wand and Banished the cat to the other end of the library.  
  
"Don't come back till you're ready to apologize!" Ron called after Snowball. He looked at the shreds of parchment Harry was miserably trying to Spellotape back together. "Er, sorry, Harry."  
  
Harry groaned and started over.  
  
In the next while each of the three left the table periodically to find books they needed. Ten minutes later Snowball returned. She hopped onto the table again and pranced onto Ron's open textbook.  
  
"What's that in your mouth?" Ron asked, noticing an envelope clamped between Snowball's teeth. Snowball regarded him impassively as Ron took the envelope and opened it.  
  
" 'Darling Ron,' " he read. "It's the Secret Admirer again! 'I wish to congratulate you on your success at the Quidditch match. You're a natural flier. My spirits when I watched were as high-flying as you. Love always, your Secret Admirer.' " Ron grinned. " 'P.S. Fantastic broom, by the way.' Who do you suppose could be sending me this?"  
  
"Could be anyone in the library," Hermione said. She sniffed the air. "Your note's perfumed, did you know? I think it's Enchantment. I know because Lavender got some this summer and she's been spraying all over our room."  
  
Ron stood up. "I want to find my Secret Admirer. Let's sniff her out!"  
  
They split up and went wandering through the library, breathing deeply. Hermione roamed the south end, while Ron ambled between tables of students in the middle of the library and Harry explored the northern end. He strolled through the Muggle Studies section, accidentally surprising a pair of seventh-years snogging in a corner. Hurrying away, he spied a shock of jet-black hair and went to speak to himself.  
  
"Hi Harry!" Marcus McCabe said excitedly, seeing him approach. He was half hidden by the stack of thick tomes on the table. Harry picked one up and became annoyed.  
  
"Hey, I've been looking for this one! This is for fifth-year Transfiguration, what are you doing with this?"  
  
"Studying," said Niamh Giffard, suddenly appearing from behind another heap of books. "Marcus wants us to be just like you, Ron and Hermione, so he's making us study your work to be advanced in our classes. Only I don't understand a word of any of this."  
  
Darius Diggle popped his head out from behind a Potions encyclopaedia. "Harry, do you know what a bezoar is? Because I do."  
  
"Give me those!" Harry said, taking the encyclopaedia away. "Don't you have work to do from your regular classes?"  
  
"Yes," said Niamh, glowering at Marcus. "But your lesser half wants to be as smart as you."  
  
"You should study more, to be like Hermione Granger," Marcus told her.  
  
"I don't want to be like Hermione Granger!" said Niamh. "Only Hermione should be Hermione, and only Harry should be Harry. You be Marcus."  
  
Then Harry spotted Professor Figg walking to the north end of the library. He followed, intending to ask her about a homework assignment, when she strode into the Restricted Section. Harry paused by the rope that blocked off that area, uncertain as to whether he, a fifth-year, was allowed inside. As Madam Pince was busy elsewhere, ejecting the two snogging seventh-years from the library, Harry was about to step over the rope when he heard Professor Figg say, her voice slightly muffled by the books surrounding her, "Ah, Severus, here you are!"  
  
"Professor Figg!" Snape said, sounding surprised.  
  
"You can call me Arabella, all the other teachers do."  
  
"I'm sorry Professor- Arabella. Calling you by your first name seems strange, after spending those two enlightening years in your tutelage." Harry recalled that Professor Figg had begun teaching at Hogwarts two years before Snape's class left school, but he hadn't been aware that she and Snape had been especially close.  
  
"I'm no longer Potions Mistress, Severus, I don't demand respect any more." They both laughed, Snape's chuckle slightly nervous. "But you know, you might help me out. I was looking for a book back here, Moste Potente Potions. Merely for my own amusement of course. There was a lovely one for turning people inside out. I remember letting you sneak it into old Professor Morlane's soup in your seventh year and he burst open like popcorn in the middle of dinner. Now that was a marvellous Halloween."  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor, I'm afraid I took that book out," Snape said. "I was planning to have the seventh-years try the Truth Serum on page 78."  
  
"Oh, that's a good potion. Well, if you're using it, I really don't want to bother you-"  
  
"You can have it if you like, Professor," Snape said quickly. "It's no trouble, I can just run to my office and grab it for you." Harry had never heard of the Potions master being helpful. His behaviour with Professor Figg was considerably un-Snape-like.  
  
"I'll come with you," Professor Figg said. Harry ducked behind a stack of Muggle Studies books as the two teachers emerged from the Restricted Section and exited the library.  
  
In a small alcove Harry came upon Lavender, Dean, and Neville, studying Divination.  
  
"Now here's your problem," Lavender was saying to Dean, pointing at his astrology chart. "You've put sixty-four moons on Saturn. And nineteen of them are named Io!"  
  
"I haven't a clue what I'm doing," Dean said sadly.  
  
Harry sniffed the air discreetly. Lavender was wearing Enchantment, but she was definitely no fan of Ron's.  
  
"Are you wearing Enchantment perfume?" he asked her.  
  
Lavender was pleased. "Yes, I am. How nice of you to notice, Harry. Did you know, so many girls snapped it up that I had to go to the Apothecary in Diagon Alley just about every other day this summer before I could finally find it."  
  
The search was hopeless if all those girls wore the same scent. Harry walked off in search of Ron. He passed the Transfiguration section and suddenly spied a book on the shelf that he'd been chasing down for a week. Hurrying towards it, he was momentarily distracted by a whiff of Enchantment perfume from someone and he collided with a small, raven-haired girl carrying a pile of Herbology books. The girl crashed to the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry!" Harry said contritely, stooping to assist her, and couldn't help noticing her fair skin and lovely, dainty features. Feeling heat rise in his cheeks, he started picking up her books so that he wouldn't get tongue-tied, which frequently happened in the presence of pretty girls.  
  
"S'all right," gasped the girl, winded. She allowed Harry to help her to her feet. "My fault really, I wasn't watching where I was going," she said pleasantly, then her gaze was attracted by the lightning scar. "You're Harry Potter?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, handing her the books. Then he recognized her from the Sorting. "Are you Alberta Goyle?"  
  
"Yes, I guess you must know my brother? He's in your year."  
  
"I've met him once or twice," Harry said, remembering the time Ron's rat Scabbers had bitten Alberta's brother Goyle, and the time he had taken a Polyjuice Potion to become Gregory Goyle for one hour. "But you know, since he's a Slytherin, we really don't mix."  
  
"What do you mean?" Alberta asked, perplexed.  
  
Harry shrugged. "He's. we run with different crowds." He's a lackey for that slimy git Malfoy, was what Harry had been about to say, but he checked himself in a hurry.  
  
Alberta smiled. "Well I'm in Slytherin, and I'd like to think I can have friends in other houses." Her smile faded. "Maybe you're right, though. My brother Gregory doesn't seem to be very friendly with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs."  
  
"Strange that you're in Slytherin," Harry said. "You seem very nice, not like any of the Slytherins I know."  
  
It was Alberta's turn to shrug. "Well, I like my house just fine. I do feel like I belong there, my housemates are very nice. Although Draco Malfoy's doing his best to make me despise the likes of you."  
  
Harry was surprised. "What's he doing?"  
  
"Telling stories about people from other houses, especially you, the famous Harry Potter. Lies and fabrications, I can see now that I've met you. Mostly the baby-eating blood-sucking monster type of myth, but most of us don't believe him. He really does detest you."  
  
"I'm no admirer of his, either," Harry said, "and to be honest I say many of the same things about him to my friends." Alberta smiled demurely.  
  
"Harry!" Ron Weasley suddenly pounced on him. "Find her?"  
  
"No, sorry Ron, but I did meet Goyle's sister. Ron, this is Alberta Goyle, Alberta, this is my friend Ron Weasley." The girl smiled charmingly.  
  
"Yeah, hi," Ron said curtly, and turned immediately to Harry, missing the sudden vexation on her face. "So you didn't see anything, hear anything, smell anything?"  
  
Alberta moved away, looking wounded, and Harry turned and frowned at Ron. "She's really nice, you know."  
  
"Yeah, I guess she's quite good-looking," said Ron, missing his meaning, "but she's a Slytherin, and a Goyle to boot. You can make better friends than that."  
  
Harry sighed but let it pass. "I didn't find your Secret Admirer," he said. "And why she chose you of all people still escapes me."  
  
"Harry-how's this for an idea," said Ron excitedly, ignoring his previous comment. "What about Hermione?"  
  
"What about her?" Harry said.  
  
"She could be my Secret Admirer! She's always right there when I get Secret Admirer messages-and she said herself, Lavender sprays her perfume all over their room, that could explain why the letter's scented and how she knew it was Enchantment."  
  
Harry thought about this. It did make some sense. "But she's not the type to do this."  
  
"Yes, that's why she's staying anonymous," Ron said. "It all fits, doesn't it?"  
  
It didn't all fit, of course, and Harry knew it, but if Ron wanted to believe it that was fine with him. "Sure, sure it does. Would this Secret Admirer affair by chance have anything to do with a certain train episode?"  
  
"No," said Ron, but his left eye twitched quite noticeably.  
  
"If you won't tell me, I'll put a Truth Serum in your trifle tomorrow night," threatened Harry.  
  
Ron paled. "But SHE'd hear."  
  
"Aha!" Harry said triumphantly. "That was almost an admission of guilt. Tell me!"  
  
Ron reluctantly acquiesced. They found a secluded table and sat. Ron said, "You promise not to breathe a word to anyone? Not even in your Pensieve?"  
  
Harry held up his hand. "I swear never to tell."  
  
Ron began, "While you were outside in the hall buying sweets, she said she wanted to talk about you. So I said, what did she mean, and she said she was worried about you. She thought you might be going mad, you see, having all those nightmares and visions." Ron turned red. "And- I'm sorry Harry, I don't know what I was thinking- I asked her- if she fancied you."  
  
Harry felt himself turning red as well. "What did she say?"  
  
"Nothing, at first. She just stared at me. Then she got up and-" Ron's face suddenly split into a goofy grin. "She kissed me!"  
  
"What?" Harry said loudly, then lowered his voice as a pair of sixth-years looked at him curiously. "She kissed you?"  
  
"Right on the mouth!" said Ron. "And then she said, 'No, I don't fancy Harry,' and she sat down, and you came back in."  
  
Harry thought that perhaps he should have expected this, but it was still quite a shock, Hermione not being renowned for audacity. He supposed it was some of that Gryffindor courage coming to the forefront. Suddenly he was reminded of his birthday wish, and of the axiom 'Be careful what you wish for' which had now gained new meaning for him. "And you haven't spoken about it since?" he asked.  
  
Ron looked shocked. "No! Are you entirely cracked? I can't talk to her face- to-face about- that. It's too-" He paused. "Well I'm just not going to."  
  
Harry wondered if this would qualify as anomalous behaviour in Dumbledore's eyes. He shrugged and said, "Fine, don't say anything about the Secret Admirer thing to Hermione. But if you ask me, she's-"  
  
"Ron, sorry, I couldn't find your Secret Admirer," Hermione said breathlessly, suddenly materializing. She indicated the books she was carrying. "But I did find loads of information for my Arithmancy essay."  
  
Harry sighed and wearily shook his head. "I have to finish my Herbology homework." 


	31. Sound the Alarms!

Professor McGonagall was giving a lecture on the mechanics of Transmogrification spells to the Gryffindor fifth-years when she was unexpectedly interrupted by the appearance of Arabella Figg at the door. Professor Figg's face was calm, but her eyes were wild with something almost like-fear? Harry began to feel apprehensive. Arabella Figg was never scared of anything. She was a calm and ever-constant presence, always in control of herself.  
  
"Professor McGonagall," said Professor Figg, and now there was no mistaking the panic that made her voice waver. Ron and Harry looked at each other in alarm. "Minerva, I must speak with you. Please. Now."  
  
Minerva McGonagall was mystified, but she knew her friend well enough not to argue. "Yes, Bella, of course. Excuse me, I will be right back," she said curtly to the students. "Don't any of you say a word. Review what we've looked at today." And she hurried out into the hall, pulling Arabella Figg out with her.  
  
The students immediately began to buzz anxiously. Harry did not join in the speculation. He was sitting closest to the door. Defying proper etiquette regarding eavesdropping, he strained to hear the teachers' conversation out in the hall.  
  
"Minnie, you remember the message Black sent me yesterday?"  
  
"Yes-oh. Oh no. Please tell me it didn't happen."  
  
"Fletch was at the Ministry today, Minerva. He heard it straight from Cornelius Fudge and he came here directly, to tell Dumbledore. Then he came to see me."  
  
"Fudge-did he go do an inspection like Dumbledore said he should?"  
  
"Yes, just this morning, that's when he found out! The Dementors tried to bar his way in, that's when he knew they were hiding something."  
  
Harry felt his insides turn to ice because he suddenly understood what they were talking about. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, but they hadn't heard anything of the teachers' dialogue. They were whispering worriedly with Seamus Finnigan. He turned back to the conversation outside the door.  
  
"How many?" Professor McGonagall was asking faintly.  
  
"Nine prisoners."  
  
"Nine? But-oh God, Dumbledore told me about those ten missing Muggles. I suppose Voldemort switched the prisoners for Muggles to satisfy the Dementors?"  
  
"It's a tried and true method now apparently, like Bartemius Crouch's escape a few years back. But here's the worst thing: by our calculations, it must have happened in mid-August. A month ago, a whole month for God's sake, and Fudge never realized anything was wrong, he had to hear it from one of our agents. Minerva, and no one even suspected a thing until now! Think of the time we've wasted!"  
  
"This is unbelievable," McGonagall whispered, sounding dazed. "But you're amazingly calm, Bella."  
  
"I think I am fantastically calm, considering the circumstances. Especially since Fletch told me that the two of them have-have gotten out."  
  
McGonagall sucked in air sharply. "They didn't."  
  
"They did. The Lestranges are free, Minerva."  
  
Harry's heart stopped.  
  
"Both?"  
  
"And Rookwood, and Dolohov too. Travers was already dead, apparently, but Voldemort threw in an extra Muggle on top of the rest. The Dementors are practically his allies now."  
  
"Dumbledore knew this would happen! He warned the Ministry not to trust those soul-sucking beasts," McGonagall said, "and now. Oh, why didn't Fudge listen? Now these Death Eaters are back on the streets and-but Bella! You don't think they'd come here?"  
  
"They will. The Lestranges will certainly want to see me again. Finish me off, you know." Professor Figg's voice was scared and angry.  
  
"Don't talk like that! What should I do now? Ought we to say something to the students?"  
  
"Tell them. Albus said we have to tell them so they have time to brace themselves for the impending cataclysm."  
  
"All right, but will you go to the hospital wing and tell Poppy Pomfrey? She'll give you something to help your nerves."  
  
"I'm calm, Minnie."  
  
"No, that's just it, you're too calm. It's unnatural. Bella, please. Go to the infirmary and let Poppy take care of you."  
  
"Yes, Minerva."  
  
When Professor McGonagall reentered the room, the class fell silent, hoping that they would be told what had so upset the unflinching Professor Figg.  
  
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. "Several prisoners have escaped from Azkaban Fortress."  
  
There was a stunned silence. They had not even the breath to gasp.  
  
"The breach may have occurred over a month ago. From all reports, it seems that Lord Voldemort persuaded the Dementors to trade some of his incarcerated Death Eaters for innocent witches and wizards that he had abducted from all over Europe."  
  
"Who got out?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
"I'm not exactly certain of all the names, but I was informed that Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, and Derrick and Maldora Lestrange have all escaped."  
  
"NO!" screeched Neville Longbottom suddenly. The whole class turned to look at him. His face was grey and terrified. His eyes were wide with panic and he gripped the edge of his desk with whitened knuckles. "Not them!"  
  
"Neville, please," said Hermione, rushing to pacify him while the rest of the class looked on, shocked. But Neville was hysterical with terror.  
  
"NOOOOOO!" he screamed. Tears poured down his face. He was trembling uncontrollably. "DAAAAD!"  
  
Professor McGonagall acted very quickly. She pulled out her wand and touched it to Neville's forehead, and he slumped in his chair, unconscious.  
  
Hermione jumped up. "Why did you do that?" she snapped at Professor McGonagall. Harry and Ron looked at each other, startled. Hermione never spoke angrily to any teacher, let alone their Head of House.  
  
But Professor McGonagall was not put out by Hermione's vehemence. "Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, would you please conduct Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing?" she said very calmly.  
  
Harry rose slowly and used his wand to revive Neville. "Come on, Hermione." While Neville was still only half-conscious, Harry and Hermione picked him up and took him out of the room, supporting him between them.  
  
When Neville had wakened further, he began to cry.  
  
"I'm sorry for making a scene," he whispered.  
  
"We understand," Hermione said soothingly. "You were upset to hear what happened. We all are."  
  
"It's not that-well, not only that," Neville said, sniffling. "It was hearing who escaped. Lestranges-they were some of the ones who-who-"  
  
"Who did things to your parents?" Harry supplied softly.  
  
Neville nodded miserably. "They tortured my parents."  
  
"What?" Hermione gasped, appalled. Harry realized that this was the first time that Hermione was hearing of Neville's parents.  
  
"My dad was an Auror," Neville said. "The Death Eaters came one night when I was very little and tortured him and my mother for information about You- Know-Who. The Death Eaters used the Cruciatus Curse on them and they-they went insane." Harry knew how painful it was for Neville to talk about it.  
  
"Is that why you live with your grandmother?" Hermione asked gently.  
  
Neville nodded again. "My parents are at St. Mungo's. They don't-they don't recognize me when I go to visit them."  
  
"How awful," Hermione said kindly. "You're very brave, Neville."  
  
Neville was glum. "I had a fit just hearing their names. I'm a coward."  
  
"No!" Harry said, so forcefully that he surprised even himself. "Neville, you're not a coward. You're one of the most courageous people we know! Didn't you win us the House Cup in first year for your bravery?"  
  
They had arrived at the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey sat with Arabella Figg, whose face was buried in her hands.  
  
Neville sniffled and smiled a little. "Yeah, I guess I did. But what if I saw them in person? I think I would die of fright. No," he said suddenly, with an intensity that astonished Harry, "no, I would kill them. I would kill them for what they did. And I'd kill their families! They'll see what it's like!" He dissolved into tears once more.  
  
Harry, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey stared at Neville in shock. Professor Figg lifted her head and looked at Neville with sorrowful eyes. Her face was ashen.  
  
"Come along, Mr. Longbottom," Madam Pomfrey said gently, pulling him into the room. "Trauma? I'll get you some chocolate, my dear boy, sit here on the bed, there's a good lad."  
  
Neville suddenly began shrieking again. "Please I NEED you Mum they can't be out THEY'LL COME AFTER ME!"  
  
Madam Pomfrey grabbed him by the shoulders and held him tight. "Calm down! You two can go back to class now," she said to Harry and Hermione. "Thank you for bringing him."  
  
Harry tried to speak but found that his throat was closed. Hermione, too, was without words, and simply nodded at Madam Pomfrey.  
  
They went out, walking slowly. Neville's screams and whimperings still reached them at the end of the hall. 


	32. Back in Black

"Post's here," Neville said at breakfast, as a hundred owls burst into the Great Hall in a flurry of feathers and shrill hooting.  
  
At the head table, Arabella Figg was brought a thin, grubby package by a barn owl. She pulled away the brown paper to reveal a stack of notes, folded and addressed on the outside to various people. She slipped some of these letters into a plate of toast and passed it down the table wordlessly. The Headmaster and several teachers unobtrusively removed their letters from the plate and pocketed them.  
  
When she finished eating, Professor Figg conjured a textbook and slid one letter between the pages. Then she made her way to the Gryffindor table.  
  
"Potter," she barked, and Harry looked up, surprised. She thrust the textbook at him. "Your detention assignment. Pages 100-101. I want a 750- word essay on Paracelsus on my desk with this book at the beginning of class today." She strode away.  
  
Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, wild with panic. "What detention assignment? I didn't do anything!"  
  
"Not recently," Ron amended.  
  
"You'd better start now, Harry," Hermione said worriedly. "Defence Against the Dark Arts starts in two hours."  
  
Harry angrily opened the book to page 100 and discovered, between the pages, a folded-up letter with his name on the front. On page 101 was pencilled, "You don't have to do the essay. -A.F."  
  
Harry read the note from Sirius quietly to Ron and Hermione:  
  
" 'Dear Harry,  
  
Arrange to be alone by the fireplace at eleven-forty-five on October 9th. We have a lot to catch up on. I look forward to seeing you again. -Snuffles.' "  
  
On the specified night Harry and Hermione concocted a horrible-smelling potion and an antidote powder and poured the foul potion liberally over the Gryffindor common room at eleven-thirty. By eleven-thirty-five the common room was deserted, the students having fled from the stench and the Weasley twins having exhausted their repertoire of jokes about flatulence. Hermione and Ron neutralized the stinking spills with the antidote powder and quietly left Harry alone in front of the fireplace.  
  
At precisely eleven-forty-five the ashes in the fireplace began to swirl by themselves and a head appeared amidst the dancing flames. Sirius Black's head beamed at Harry.  
  
"Harry!" he said warmly. "You look so much older than in June. Have you grown?"  
  
"About an inch," Harry said, feeling a pang as he recalled the night last June when he had last seen Sirius. "Where have you been?"  
  
"Here and there," Sirius said vaguely. "Are you taking good care of my motorbike?"  
  
Harry nodded. "It- er, she's being kept at Hagrid's cottage."  
  
"She runs on magic, so she never needs petrol," Sirius said. "She's a real beauty, isn't she? Purrs like a lion, never needs fixing, vanishes with the flick of a switch. She's one of my most cherished possessions. I built her when I was fourteen, about your age. You, ah, might want to keep a low profile when you ride, the Ministry doesn't exactly know about her. But there's an invisibility switch on the right side if you want to go unnoticed."  
  
"Fletch showed me," Harry said. "Then she's really mine?"  
  
"Of course! Obviously I, a convicted fugitive, would attract too much attention on a flying motorcycle; but she's still in good condition and I want her to go to someone who'll take good care of her. Call it your early Christmas gift."  
  
"Are you nearby?" Harry asked.  
  
"As a matter of fact I am, Harry. I wish I could come see you, but I'd be taking my chances coming near Hogwarts. There's a price on my head, did you know that? Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy have been pulling strings in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It's up to 500 Galleons."  
  
Harry whistled. "I should have brought you in myself to buy Ron a broom."  
  
"Why does Ron need a broom?" Sirius enquired.  
  
Harry explained about the Quidditch house team. Sirius was pleased.  
  
"Finally Ron's getting some recognition! He's always being overshadowed by you and Hermione and his brothers. At last here's something he can do better than any of you. And you say Arabella Figg gave him a Nimbus Feather-Light? How interesting."  
  
"But she won't even tell us whose it is."  
  
"Well, do you know whose I think it might be? Might be Ig Figg's broom."  
  
Harry jumped. "Ignacio Figg, the Montrose Magpies Chaser? Are they related?"  
  
"Ig's her son, Harry! He was in school with me, four years ahead. Hasn't Arabella told you anything at all about herself?"  
  
"No, nothing. Everything I know about her, I read in a book. Or on a Chocolate Frogs trading card," Harry said.  
  
Sirius was puzzled. "Have you talked to her? I'm sure she'd be glad to tell you about her exciting life."  
  
"Her exciting life? All I know is that she used to be an Auror, and she had three children."  
  
"Settle in, Harry, let me tell you her tale," Sirius said with a grin. "Arabella Figg is very famous, I'm surprised you never came across her name in a book. She comes from a long lineage of great wizards. She was born Arabella Neale to an pureblood wizarding family, so ancient that the Neales are said to have been some of the first students of Hogwarts when it opened."  
  
"Her ancestor Tobias Neale invented the Patronus Charm," Harry said.  
  
"Yes, her family name is sprinkled all over the history books. There's a lot in the name that new generations must live up to."  
  
"Pressure," said Harry. He felt that way sometimes about his parents, who had been so famous in their time that it was certainly impossible to match their achievements.  
  
"Exactly, lots of pressure on Bella Neale. At first she thought she wanted to be an alchemist, and she studied Potions profitably for many years. Indeed, she published her first paper on the uses of dragon horn in modern alchemy when she was ten. She's most famous for her work in specializing Potions for antidotes to curses. Her research was published in medical journals worldwide when she was just fifteen at Hogwarts, and St. Mungo's Hospital even adopted several of her suggestions for their patients.  
  
"But eventually she realized that though her passion was Potions, she would do the world more good by actively defending it against evil. So she became an Auror like many of her relatives, and forged a name for herself in the magical community. For many years she was Britain's champion, nabbing Grindelwald's Dark wizards.  
  
"And what amazed me when I started out as an Auror was that Bella never got tempted by the Dark side to let anyone slip through. She caught every Death Eater she was assigned. Bella always got her villain in the end; you could count on that if nothing else.  
  
"Then suddenly she changed her mind about her career. She didn't want to hunt down Dark Wizards anymore, she wanted to teach at Hogwarts. Defence Against the Dark Arts is the first subject that comes to mind, but that position was already filled by Professor Morlane. So she reverted to her old passion, Potions, and became the Potions mistress when your dad and I were in sixth year."  
  
"And all the while she led her private life, getting married to Dr. Faustus Figg and raising three children. Dr. Figg, Bella's husband, was the head of St. Mungo's Hospital. The Figgs are also an old British wizarding family, and there's a fair bit to live up to there as well."  
  
"But Derrick and Maldora Lestrange killed Dr. Figg," Harry said.  
  
"You know about that, do you? I think he was a bit mad myself, to go after them-"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Didn't Bella say? For some unknown reason Dr. Figg decided to hunt them down himself. He actually caught up to them out in Germany, and the Lestranges unceremoniously killed him and mailed his body to Bella in England."  
  
Harry was taken aback. "Professor Figg told us they hunted him down and murdered him."  
  
"The fact that they murdered him is undisputable, certainly: Maldora Lestrange told Bella that herself afterwards. But maybe Bella doesn't want you to know that her husband went after dangerous felons like a madman. Not many people know that he was the one who sought them out. I only know because Lily told me. She and Bella used to be quite close, since Lily's own parents didn't understand her. You must know what that's like."  
  
"Dr. Figg sounds mad."  
  
"Yes. yet he was always quite sane, until a Lethifold was smuggled into the Figg's house and attempted to smother Arabella."  
  
"A Lethifold," repeated Harry. "The 'living shroud', that cloak-type beast that suffocates humans in their beds and eats them?"  
  
"Exactly. Normally found in the tropics, but somehow the Death Eaters brought one into England, illegally of course. Both of them escaped, and Bella took it lightly, having survived worse situations; but Dr. Figg was incensed and said he wouldn't take any more of this senseless brutality. He simply up and left without telling anyone, and the next time I saw him was at his funeral.  
  
"Later of course you were born and that whole affair happened. Arabella testified at the trials of the Death Eaters, the ones who were accorded that favour; and then she retired from teaching to move into Magnolia Crescent with her cats and look after you."  
  
"Was she a good teacher?" Harry asked.  
  
"The best! I can't imagine you know what a good Potions teacher is, having Snape as Potions master. but imagine, Remus Lupin's teaching methods applied to Potions. Why, Bella taught you Potions this summer, didn't she? I'd forgotten. But that whole summer, she never said a word about her family? Odd."  
  
"I never knew her son was the famous Ignacio Figg from the British Quidditch League," Harry said in wonderment.  
  
"She also had two daughters, Phyllida and Solange. Phyllida left Hogwarts before my time, but I knew she always loved Herbology. I think she was friends with your Professor Sprout. Anyways, she became an Herbology expert of great repute, and married a wizard botanist named Spore. Phyllida Spore wrote your Herbology textbook. I saw her name on the cover when I was shipping you your school supplies."  
  
Harry shook his head disbelievingly. "I seem to always be the last to know anything. What about her last daughter then, Solange? I've only seen a picture of her. Blonde and blue-eyed, isn't she?"  
  
"She was," Sirius corrected. "She died, Harry, a long time ago." Harry was bereft of speech. Sirius went on without noticing, "But Merlin's beard! That girl was something."  
  
"A friend of yours?" Harry asked.  
  
Sirius grimaced. "No! Never a friend. Rather the opposite. Solange was cruel, with little esteem for anyone but herself."  
  
"Solange, Professor Figg's daughter?" Harry said, puzzled.  
  
"Harry, imagine if you will, a girl with Draco Malfoy's malice, Hermione's smarts, and your resourcefulness. Now put all of that into the most beautiful girl in the world."  
  
"I thought you said my mother was the prettiest girl at Hogwarts."  
  
"Lily Evans was a sweet girl, Harry, but it was her innocent sort of beauty that made her attractive. Solange Figg had a seductive air about her that made her. enthralling. Icy blue eyes, fair skin like china, and long blonde hair that sometimes looked silvery, like a Veela's. The Neales, I think, have some old Veela blood in them.  
  
"The only reason I could resist throwing myself at her feet was because of her mean streak. Solange put on an angelic face for teachers and adults, but among her fellow students she was utterly wicked. She was a Slytherin, you know, and friends with the worst kind: MacNair, Avery, Rosier, Derrick Lestrange, Severus Snape. Have you ever heard of the game we played with the Whomping Willow?"  
  
"Lupin said people were dared to run up and touch it," Harry said, "until someone nearly lost an eye."  
  
Sirius nodded. "Well, Solange invented that game. She never did it herself, only taunted others to do it. Usually she targeted boys, because she knew boys wanted to impress her. The boy who nearly lost his eye was Davy Gudgeon, that poor sot. He was in first year and rather weak-minded. The weak ones fell first to Solange." Sirius frowned. "Peter Pettigrew was weak. He got us in deep trouble more than once, trying to get us to help him impress her.  
  
"Yet I never knew Solange to attach herself to anyone. She only wanted the amusement of persecuting boys. I suppose she was leaving the falling in love bit for when she was older, but she never got that chance. When she was in seventh year, Ignacio Figg was already playing on the Caerphilly Catapults team, and he'd made friends with the famous 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn, to whom he'd introduced his family. Dai, from what I hear, fell head over heels for Solange Figg and took her on holiday in Greece."  
  
Harry started. "But Dangerous Dai was eaten by a Chimaera in Greece!"  
  
"And Solange with him. Dai didn't deserve such a gory end, but Solange did."  
  
"Good riddance to bad rubbish?" Harry said.  
  
Sirius grinned. "Exactly. And after her daughter's death Professor Figg had her career change, possibly because she wanted to be with children again. I don't believe Bella ever knew of Solange's nastiness. Obviously no one mentioned it to her. She never spoke of Solange after her death."  
  
Harry sat silently for a moment, digesting this. "Poor Mrs. Figg. No wonder she never told me anything about it."  
  
"Actually, I'm surprised she didn't tell you, Harry. After all, you being closely tied, she should have taken you as a confidant like I have."  
  
"Closely tied?" asked Harry.  
  
Sirius looked confused. "Well, yes, you're her godson."  
  
"Her godson? Arabella Figg is my godmother? Why wouldn't she tell me straight out?"  
  
"I have no idea," said Sirius. "I remember thinking that it was odd that Lily didn't ask her own sister, but then I met Petunia once and understood." Sirius grinned. "But Lily asked Bella Figg because they were quite close and Lily trusted her more than any other woman she knew. And of course Lily was right. Bella's had to take the entire responsibility of protecting you, as I was in Azkaban for thirteen years. She arranged for your house to be Unplottable, she diverted your fan mail, she kept admirers and enemies both at bay for years."  
  
Harry groaned. "My godmother! I don't believe it, I'm the last to know everything!"  
  
"But Harry, you must never say anything about this to Bella, not a word. I think she'd be angry with me if she knew I told you. But also Harry, I don't want you to trouble her. She's under a lot of pressure all the time. Everything is on her shoulders."  
  
"But she's only a teacher," said Harry.  
  
"More than a teacher, she's still an Auror, Harry, and a Phoenix. That's the only reason Fudge lets the Order of the Phoenix continue. Remember her spotless record? She's the last one of us that Fudge respects anymore-even more than Dumbledore. Only with her assurance that the Order of the Phoenix is valuable to the Ministry can Fudge keep from meddling. But it may not last forever." Sirius was grave. "Watch out for her, Harry, will you? She takes a lot of risks. If we lose her we may lose everything." 


	33. The Order of the Phoenix Convenes

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again, I'm really sorry about any formatting errors you find. Chalk them up to inexperience. Remember that when you see a period (.) that seems really out of place in a sentence, it's probably supposed to be an ellipsis (...).

Midnight. It was the night the jailbreak was discovered. The students lay asleep in their beds—even Harry Potter, who tossed in the throes of a nightmare but could not wake. Neville Longbottom slumbered peacefully in the infirmary, a potion for dreamless sleep working its magic on him.

Hogwarts was still— but from the unrumpled bed beside Neville's a figure emerged, fully clothed and fully awake.

She glanced into the room off the infirmary, where a matronly nurse lay quietly, visions of Gilderoy Lockhart dancing in her head; then she stole out of the infirmary, down the cold quiet corridors of the school. Up one flight of stairs, and one more, past the library door, to a stone pedestal on which rested a statue of a fearsome firedrake. She rapped three times on the head of the firedrake. The stone eyelids rolled back and the cruel yellow eyes stared as she held out her right hand, on which gleamed a gold ring. With a grinding of gears, the wall and pedestal turned slowly, and when the firedrake closed its eyes, she stood on the other side of the wall, before a maze of corridors.

She scurried soundless down the twisting halls, stepping through paintings and tapestries, finally stopping in a hallway of paintings lit by sconces on the wall. She moved past all the paintings to the ninth wall sconce, which she grasped tightly and pulled down. The bricks vanished, leaving a low entryway. She ducked and entered.

Eight people were seated round a rectangular marble table. At the head of the table sat Albus Dumbledore, chief of the Order of the Phoenix. In the roaring fire in the fireplace was a disembodied head— Sirius Black. On the chandelier above their heads was perched Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, preening his scarlet feathers and crooning to himself, looking bored.

"You're late," Mundungus Fletcher said to the newcomer.

"Poppy Pomfrey took ages to fall asleep," said Arabella Figg, moving to the empty chair at the other end of the table from Dumbledore. "Am I the last one?"

"The other Phoenixes agreed to keep working," said Sirius. "They'll be filled in later."

"We've already begun the meeting," said Dumbledore. "Minerva has the floor."

Minerva McGonagall said, "The question is, what is to be done with the Dementors? Clearly they are no longer to be relied on by the Ministry."

Quentin Trimble, a stout, balding wizard who wrote Defence Against the Dark Arts books by day and whose logical genius had enabled him to win the British Wizard's Chess Championship sixteen years in a row, spoke up. "It would be stupid to let them continue as Azkaban guards, but equally stupid to release them because they'd go straight to Voldemort."

"Will they have to be destroyed?" Perdita Clemens asked.

"Fudge said he wanted them interrogated," said Fletch, "but there's no way to go about it. He forced to give it a go, but when he got near them forgets all the questions and runs to cower in a corner."

"I'd do it," said Bella Figg, "but frankly I don't want to. Let Fudge get himself out of this one. I still can't believe he doesn't make regular inspections. He knows Dementors are Dark creatures. They formed a natural alliance with Voldemort last time. What does he do all day at the Ministry, twiddle his thumbs?"

"Probably," said Trimble. "Thus it falls to us to solve the problem."

"Here's an idea," said the young Ministry Unspeakable Quintius Croaker, sitting forward. "Make Ministry Hit Wizards the Azkaban guards instead."

"And what of the Dementors?" asked Remus Lupin, glancing upwards as Fawkes yawned boredly.

"I don't know... Suppose we sequestered them off somewhere, far away from all people? They'd die off by themselves, and we'd have no more Dementors to worry about."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It would never work. You forget Voldemort. It's quite likely that he would find some magic allowing him to rescue the Dementors. Then not only would he have the Dementors, but they would be angry with the Ministry for attempting to extinguish their species."

"Besides, there's no way to transport them," said Sirius Black's head. "You don't know what it's like, being with them. Nothing matters but getting away from them, even in death. You wish for death."

"But we can't keep them there," said Lupin. "They're already allies of Voldemort."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "There's not much we can do, except perhaps bolster security on the island. Croaker's suggestion has some merit. Perhaps we could build a barrier round the island and place Hit Wizards and Aurors there. I think there was a spell for enlarging magical barricades, but I'll have to look it up. But even that is a paltry act. Voldemort could breach it in a moment."

"We're missing something," said Bella Figg. "Voldemort struck up a deal with the Dementors and made them his allies. Then he travelled to Azkaban and took out nine prisoners. But he didn't take the Dementors— why? He left them on Azkaban to guard the remaining prisoners. Why did he do that? As a personal favour to the Ministry? No. There is another reason."

"It's too drastic to remove two hundred Dementors and release several hundred prisoners," said Lupin. "There's no way he could keep that secret."

"Secret- yes," said Bella, leaning forward. "He wanted to keep it secret. He has the upper hand, but he doesn't want anyone to know: not the Ministry, not us, not the magical community. Which brings us to the ultimate question: what is his next step? And the answer is, to make a grand re-entrance. He could have released all the Dementors and taken them away with him, but he didn't, because he doesn't need them. He only took his Death Eaters, whom he did need, because they're his tools. You see it now? Cracking Azkaban was nothing to him. He's saving his powers for his real goal."

"Which is?" said Trimble.

"Killing Harry Potter," said Bella. "It's all he wants now. All those attacks on Potter during the summer- clumsy attempts by his less brilliant minions. They only served to tell us Voldemort has made it clear that he wants to kill Potter. It's only a matter of time before he breaches Hogwarts and comes after the boy himself."

"Why Potter?" asked Perdita. "Why not someone like Dumbledore, the more obvious target for being Voldemort's enemy? I don't understand."

"You wouldn't understand, you haven't been with Potter as long as I have," said Bella. "Years of watching the boy have given me a sixth sense for what he feels, what he is. And you know he's part of Voldemort, and vice versa. You all know that's what happened when the curse backfired. So when I know what Potter feels, I also know what Voldemort feels. Potter's scar hurts when Voldemort is feeling particularly murderous, and lately it's been hurting him a lot. When he was living at my house for a month this summer I could hear him tossing and turning from the horrible nightmares he got. I had to drug him so he could sleep."

Sirius' eyes were misty. "I didn't know it was so bad."

"The point is, Voldemort wants him dead. Potter feels it, but he doesn't know how obsessed Voldemort is. Every time he wanted to come back, Potter thwarted him. Even when he got his body back and had Potter cornered, the boy escaped. I'm willing to bet my life that Voldemort's first official goal is to kill Potter— himself, if possible. Finally he will have conquered the boy wonder, the hero of the global magical community. Then he will hold up the murder to the world at large so they will know he is back and more powerful than ever."

"Then you really think he will come here?" Lupin asked.

"Minerva spotted Peter Pettigrew in the Three Broomsticks last month, didn't she?" said Bella. "He got away before we could nab him- but if he's here, that means Voldemort must be close too."

"But where?" asked Sirius. "Where is he living?"

"Here is a question one of us should be able to answer, at least," said Fletch, turning to the last member of the party, who wore no gold ring and had been silent the entire meeting. "Snape, where is Voldemort?"

"I don't know," said Severus Snape tightly. "They are not telling me."

"You don't know? You can't even guess?" pressed Fletch, clearly skeptical.

"I told you I don't know!" snapped Snape. "I'm no longer privy to information like this! If I was, I would not be here with you! I do NOT know where he is!"

There was a silence. Snape put his face in his hands.

"Fletch..." said Perdita softly, putting a hand on his arm.

"Sorry," Fletch said gruffly to Snape, but did not sound like he meant it.

Indeed almost everyone doubted Snape's statement of ignorance. Only Perdita Clemens, who did not like to judge people she did not know, Dumbledore, who was prepared to to trust Snape no matter what, and Bella Figg, who thought she knew Snape inside and out, believed him.

But only two of the skeptics had rational reasons beyond the knowledge of his Death Eater past: Remus Lupin, who had heard Snape lie at the Death Eater meeting in the summer, and suspected he might be seeing some of the same acting skills; and Snape himself, who knew for certain that he was lying. He knew exactly where Voldemort was. But he also knew Dumbledore would believe him and not press the issue.

"We'll have to stay alert," Dumbledore said now. "Perdita and Fletch will remain in Hogsmeade. Croaker can keep an eye on the Ministry in London, since no one questions the movements of the Department of Mysteries. Trimble will keep an eye out in Ireland. Lupin, Sirius, you will have to keep moving through Britain, looking for Death Eater activity, which may lead us to Voldemort. Severus, Minerva, Bella and I have to stay here, of course, but we will put extra security on Harry Potter, if possible."

Fletch and Bella exchanged nervous glances. "And on you, Albus," said Fletch.

Dumbledore looked mildly surprised. "Why me?"

"Albus, don't pretend you think Harry is Voldemort's only enemy," said Sirius. "Everyone knows you're the only one whom he ever considered real opposition."

"Harry is Voldemort's first goal, but you're sure to be next," Bella said.

Dumbledore looked round the table of anxious faces. Only one person was not looking at him. Severus Snape glowered silently at the tabletop. He alone knew Lord Voldemort well enough to reasonably confirm the others' suspicions. Harry Potter's murder was merely a symbolic gesture that Voldemort wanted to achieve to prove to himself he was the better wizard, though his personal obsession with the boy was also a factor; but eliminating Dumbledore would be a necessary step on the way to world domination. Snape didn't know what he was going to do about it.

"Just promise you'll stay here at Hogwarts, where it's safe," pleaded Perdita Clemens.

Dumbledore shrugged. "If you all feel this way... I will remain at Hogwarts as long as Lord Voldemort is at large."

The creature on the chandelier stopped crooning and screeched, releasing a giant ball of flame from its beak. Fawkes swooped down from the chandelier, and landed heavily on Dumbledore's shoulder. He pecked the wizard's ear affectionately.

"Meeting adjourned," said Dumbledore.


	34. The Patronus Charm

JAILBREAK, blared the headline of the Daily Prophet the next morning. Clearly circumspection was not a job requirement for Ministry officials. The owls flew thick through the Great Hall at Hogwarts, the parents of the students frantic with worry. The students buzzed, anxious and more than a little frightened. Finally Dumbledore stood, and the room fell silent immediately.  
  
"You have all seen the headline," he said, "that states that there has been a breach in the security at Azkaban Prison. For once the Daily Prophet has printed something with a grain of truth. But you have all known about the escape since yesterday, and have had that much time to learn to deal with it. I want to assure you again that Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain to be at this time, and that you are not in danger. You are not in danger," he repeated, and his eyes met Harry's.  
  
Harry looked away. He wished he could believe Dumbledore, but the memory of his nightmare still burned in his mind. When he closed his eyes he saw the cold dank torture chamber with all those dying people, and Voldemort's cruel laughter rang in his ears. It had not helped Harry's state of mind to find out that Voldemort's Death Eaters were no longer caged but free, free to join Voldemort in the stone torture chamber of his nightmares. And he couldn't help picturing himself chained to the slimy wall.  
  
Professor Figg stood tapping on something they could not see at the front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom when the Gryffindors walked in for class the next day, Wednesday. She turned and smiled when they entered.  
  
"Good afternoon. Sit, quickly, we have a lot to cover today."  
  
When everyone was seated she began, "The Azkaban jailbreak has increased panic tenfold over the whole issue of Voldemort's return. Rumours have been circulating that he is amassing allies, joining forces with Dark creatures to begin another uprising. I am not going to stand here and reassure you that the rumours are untrue. It is a very real threat, which means you must be prepared in any eventuality.  
  
"Now tell me all Dark creatures you know."  
  
"Kappas," called Dean.  
  
"Vampires," said Neville, shivering.  
  
"Werewolves," said Lavender. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, thinking of Lupin.  
  
"Red Caps."  
  
"Trolls and giants."  
  
"Banshees."  
  
"Dementors," said Harry softly.  
  
Professor Figg nodded. "We will study all of those, beginning today with Dementors. What do you know about Dementors? Miss Patil?"  
  
"They suck happiness out of humans for nourishment," Parvati said.  
  
Hermione raised her hand and recited, "Their ultimate weapon is the Dementor's Kiss, where they drain the person's soul from their body, leaving an empty shell. Their kind were allied with the Dark side until only a few years ago, when they became guards at Azkaban Prison. Now the Dementor's Kiss is equal to a death sentence for prisoners."  
  
"Good," said Professor Figg. "I know that Dementors came to guard Hogwarts two years ago, so I'm sure you can all envisage the Dementor's Kiss." All the students shuddered. Harry thought of his parents' screams, forced into his head by the Dementors' powers. "There is only one defence against Dementors. Are you all taking this down? It is called the Patronus Charm. Invented by the British Auror Tobias Neale in the twelfth century, the Patronus is the only spell that can weaken or even cause something like pain to a Dementor. That's because a Patronus takes all your good intentions and your honour and moulds them into a solid shape, like this. Expecto Patronum!" she shouted suddenly, making them all jump. She pointed her wand and a silvery light blossomed from her wand, taking the form of a majestic lion, which sprang furiously at Seamus just before vanishing into thin air. The Gryffindors gasped in delight. Seamus looked pale.  
  
"Looks easy, doesn't it?" said Professor Figg. "I hope you were watching well, because fifth-years must be able to conjure a decent Patronus for the O.W.L.s at the end of the year." A collective groan rose. "Oh come now, it's not that hard. You'll get lots of practise before June. We'll start now. Everyone up!" They stood and she flicked her wand, and the tables and chairs vanished.  
  
"We need room to practise," she explained. "The formula is Expecto Patronum. Go on, say it."  
  
"Expecto Patronum," said the students.  
  
"More force!" cried Professor Figg. "Saying it like that won't get you anywhere. Thomas!" Dean snapped to attention. "Draw your wand and try it."  
  
Dean obeyed. "Expecto Patronum?" he said cautiously, and nothing happened.  
  
"You see?" said Professor Figg. "Now say it like you mean it. Shout out loud, like you're facing a real Dementor and it wants a nice sloppy kiss."  
  
Dean shuddered. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, and a silvery wisp blossomed from the end of his wand and dissipated. The others applauded.  
  
"Good, Thomas," said Professor Figg. "Now all of you line up facing me." They did so. "Follow Thomas' example. Scream the words if you have to! Just get them out. Imagine I'm a Dementor. All together. now!"  
  
"Expecto Patronum!" yelled the whole class together, and a shapeless flurry of mist was the result. Only one silver stag charged out of the smoke and halted before Professor Figg. They stared at each other.  
  
"Potter," Professor Figg said quietly, looking at the stag, "who taught you to do this?"  
  
"Professor Lupin," said Harry.  
  
"I see," said Professor Figg. She reached out, and the stag vanished. "That was quite impressive. Did the rest of you see that?" she asked. "Potter's Patronus was solid and had a shape. That is what you are aiming for! That would have gotten a perfect grade at the O.W.L. exams. Keep practising!"  
  
"How do I know what my Patronus will look like?" Lavender asked.  
  
"A Patronus generally takes the shape of something that you think of as you personal guardian. I have always admired the noble lion, which is why mine takes that form. Mundungus Fletcher had an abusive father who was gored by a Manticore, which explains the shape of his Patronus. And Potter, for personal reasons, feels that the stag is a suitable protector. I don't know what yours will look like. I want you to show me."  
  
So they practised, again and again and again, but as it had taken Harry many months to be able to make a solid Patrons, the others made very little progress beyond the ephemeral silvery mists that slipped from their wandtips and dispersed moments later.  
  
Hary was trying to help Ron. Ron's Patronus was different from Harry's in that it burst from his wand, sickly grey, and floated up to the ceiling like a puff of smoke, dispersing among the rafters. "Is it a bird?" Harry asked. "An owl? Maybe a dragon?"  
  
Ron grimaced. "After seeing the first task last year, why on earth would I think a dragon could protect me? It just looks like a grey smear."  
  
Professor Figg appeared. "Let me see your Patronus, Weasley." Ron performed his nebulous Patronus Charm, looking doubtful, but Professor Figg smiled.  
  
"You just need to keep practising, Weasley. It will come with time. Potter, show me your Patronus again," ordered Professor Figg. Harry pointed his wand and the silver stag leaped over Ron's head, looking somewhat fainter than before.  
  
"Harry, I think your Patronus is getting weak," Hermione remarked.  
  
"I'm not thinking of Dementors anymore," Harry said.  
  
"Do you need some motivation?" asked Professor Figg.  
  
She turned and suddenly whipped off the Invisibility Cloak that had been covering a seven-foot-tall tinted box at the front of the class. From behind a thin layer of magic a Dementor leered at them.  
  
Everyone screamed in alarm and fled to the back of the room. Only Harry and Neville remained frozen, oddly rooted to the spot.  
  
"Stop that!" Professor Figg cried at the students who stood with their backs flat against the wall. "A fine brave lot you are! It's not coming out. This is a bit of experimental magic that I invented for this purpose. You're all perfectly safe." She rapped on the box and the Dementor hissed at her. "Oh, shut up," she snapped, and to their astonishment the Dementor recoiled and turned away.  
  
"How did you catch a Dementor?" Ron asked in amazement, as they slowly left the wall and rejoined Harry and Neville by the Dementor's strange cage.  
  
"I went to Azkaban last night and nabbed one before anyone noticed. But I wouldn't advise copying me. You might get killed."  
  
"But how did you resist their powers?" Harry asked.  
  
Professor Figg shrugged. "Wizards all react differently to Dementors. For me, there's some kind of old magic in my blood that makes me virtually impervious to Dementors' powers. It's extremely rare. But Neale is my maiden name, and Tobias Neale, inventor of the Patronus, is my ancestor. Does anyone feel faint?" she asked. No one raised their hand. "You liars! Your faces are sheet-white. Even you, Potter," she added with a touch of mocking derision. Harry was about to protest that he wasn't scared, only surprised, but she laughed it off with a wave of her hand. "I won't make you do your spells against the Dementor. But watch me closely."  
  
She went to the side of the classroom and drew a line across the floor with her wand. From the line a translucent magic wall sprang up and fixed itself to the ceiling. The students were on one side and Professor Figg and the caged Dementor were on the other.  
  
"Oh no," said Hermione, as all the students jumped up and pressed their faces up against the tinted screen.  
  
"She's never going to release the Dementor?" Ron said incredulously.  
  
"I am going to release the Dementor," Professor Figg said through the wall. "Pay attention."  
  
"What if something goes wrong?" Harry called. He was having flashbacks to the time that Gilderoy Lockhart had let loose a cage of Cornish pixies on the class.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Potter, I'm a professional," said Professor Figg airily. She raised her wand and the box over the Dementor spontaneously shattered. The shards vanished in the air.  
  
The Dementor stalked forward, making rattling, sucking noises. It was starved and enraged. Professor Figg, however, barely flinched as it advanced. She aimed her wand and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"  
  
The silvery lion burst from her wand as before and lunged at the Dementor. The Dementor halted and raised its thin arm defensively against the lion's attack. Harry could see pale white rents in the filthy grey cloak where the lion's claws slashed at the Dementor. The Dementor retreated, hissing and rattling angrily, as the steadfast lion paced before Professor Figg.  
  
"Now I box it in," said Professor Figg, holding her wand above her head pointing at the Dementor. The wand point described a large circle and a wide, shadowy ribbon flowed from the wand tip to the floor round the Dementor, which could not step over the line. In a few seconds it was imprisoned like before. The Patronus lion shook its shaggy mane and dissolved in thin air.  
  
Professor Figg, satisfied, broke the tinted wall dividing the room and threw the Invisibility Cloak back over the Dementor's cage. Then she noticed their wide-eyed, shocked expressions. "You've all worked very hard today," she said kindly. "I think an early dismissal is in order, don't you? Don't tell the other teachers." The students grabbed their books and left, talking excitedly. 


	35. Someone's Idea of Fun

The troubles started one afternoon during class.  
  
"If there are no questions, you may proceed," said tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher. "Remember the long full sweep of the arm!"  
  
The students lifted their wands and began to practise.  
  
"Mobililibrus," Ron said hopefully, pointing at his textbook, and to his delight it lifted off gently from the tabletop and swayed in the air.  
  
"Mobilisellus," Harry said firmly to an empty chair, raising it in the air and moving it to the other side of the class. He grinned at his success.  
  
Dean Thomas winked at Harry. "An empty chair? Child's play. I'll top you. Mobilisellus!" he said, pointing to the chair occupied by Neville Longbottom, who found himself floating three feet off the floor.  
  
But Neville was unperturbed. Sweeping his wand at Dean with surprising grace, he cried, "Mobilibarus!" and Dean rose into the air with Neville.  
  
"Careful now, boys," Professor Flitwick called out.  
  
Dean and Neville set each other down and Neville leaped off his chair so that it wouldn't happen again. Ron, still practising, picked up Neville's chair with another "Mobilisellus!" and tried to carry it towards him, but accidentally flung it against the wall.  
  
"Mr. Weas-" Professor Flitwick began sternly, but was interrupted by a quiet sound.  
  
Creeeaaakkk. It came from the wall Ron had hit. They all turned to stare.  
  
"Professor?" Lavender Brown said nervously.  
  
Crrrreeeaaaakk. It was louder. Threatening.  
  
"Everyone out," whispered Professor Flitwick. Crrrrreeeeeaaak, went the wall. "Now!" he said.  
  
The students grabbed their schoolbags and ran out into the hall, followed closely by Professor Flitwick. Then the wall collapsed, completely crushing the room where they had been sitting moments before.  
  
In a Transfiguration classroom on the other side of the castle, a class of Hufflepuff first-years were learning to change matches into needles.  
  
"Try it now, everyone," Professor McGonagall said to the students.  
  
A girl lifted her wand and pointed it at the match. The match began to lengthen and the girl was delighted. But her smile faded when the match became scaly and continued to grow longer and longer till it was four feet long, and then one end of it twisted round and hissed at the girl, sticking out its forked tongue.  
  
The girl screamed and jumped back from her desk. And through the whole classroom, the same phenomenon was occurring. The matchsticks were transforming into snakes of all types and sizes, all of which slithered off the tables and onto the floor. The first-years ran out screaming, and Professor McGonagall ran after them. At the door she turned and looked back briefly at the classroom writhing with serpents, horrified and shocked, stuggling to comprehend what was happening. Then she slammed the door.  
  
In the dungeons of the castle, Professor Snape paced between the cauldrons of the sixth-year Ravenclaw and Slytherin students. "Do not forget that the chopped daisy roots go in only after the spine of lionfish."  
  
"Professor?" called Cho Chang nervously from the back. "The floor is covered in water back here."  
  
"What appallingly foolish person has been stupid enough to spill water on my floor?" demanded Professor Snape. The students were silent.  
  
Then a Slytherin near the front of the classroom raised his hand. "But Professor, there's water on the floor here too, and none of us have spilled."  
  
"It's already two inches deep here," said a Ravenclaw from the side of the dungeon.  
  
Snape frowned and looked down. He too was standing in water. He raised his eyes and looked round. A layer of water covered the floor of the entire dungeon.  
  
"Professor," a Slytherin student said fearfully, "it's rising."  
  
So it was. In less than a minute the water level had risen several inches. It spilled over the tops of their shoes.  
  
"Everyone out," Professor Snape said quietly. "Put out your fires, drop your ingredients, and get out now. Go upstairs, and wait for me there."  
  
The students did as they were told. They turned off their cauldrons and ran out of the dungeon quickly, sloshing through the water that now came halfway up to their knees. Snape stood alone in the middle of his classroom, the rising water soaking the hem of his black robes. "How." he whispered, uncomprehending. His face suddenly twisted into a weary, crazy grin. "I must have missed the memo," he said aloud, and gave a bark of deranged laughter. Then he turned and ran up the stairs after his students.  
  
Outside in greenhouse four, Professor Sprout was teaching seventh-year Gryffindors. "Here we have the Alihotsy plants. Ingestion of the leaves causes hysteria. I remember once in my fifth year at Hogwarts, someone snuck Alihotsy leaves into the chicken cassoulet as a prank and all of Ravenclaw house was struck down with a mad folly."  
  
They moved on to a fist-sized clump of black vines and tendrils that sat in damp soil in a shaded area of the greenhouse. "And here is a small specimen of the carnivorous Devil's Snare. You needn't fear it now though, I've put a Sleeping Charm on it."  
  
"Then why is it moving?" asked Alicia Spinnet, pointing to a wriggling tendril.  
  
"Sleepwalking?" suggested George Weasley.  
  
"More like sleepgrabbing!" yelled Fred, pulling his arm out of the grasp of a vine. He fired a Severing Charm at the vine, cutting it off; but it continued to grow out again.  
  
"It's growing too fast!" Katie Bell said to Professor Sprout as she used a Severing Charm to cut a root that had ensnared her foot.  
  
"But it shouldn't be growing at all!" Professor Sprout cried, drawing back from a tendril that menacingly wrapped its arm round her neck. "I- I don't understand, it should be asleep!"  
  
"That is clearly not the case!" shouted George, who was dangling in the air, his ankles clenched in a thick vine. He screamed, because he had just remembered what the Devil's Snare did with things it caught: it ate them, disgesting them slowly over several hundred years. Alicia and Fred reached up and grabbed his arms, and a tug-of-war ensued with George in the middle, shouting in panic. The two managed to pull him out of the plant's grip and all three fell backwards on top of more roots and vines that were sprawling across the ground.  
  
"Everyone outside! Run!" shouted Professor Sprout. She and the students all bolted for the exit. The Devil's Snare stretched itself after them, but they slammed the doors shut on the thick black tendrils. Professor Sprout stared through the glass walls at the huge plant, which by now, against all rules of nature and botanical magic, had taken over the entire greenhouse, crushing all the other plants.  
  
Katie Bell screamed and pointed at the castle. "Professor!"  
  
Professor Sprout turned and looked. She too screamed out loud, because hanging in the sky over the castle was a huge cloud of green sparks, forming a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth: the Dark Mark. 


	36. Harry Proves His Acumen

Tension was high after the strange incidents. The Order of the Phoenix had convened to discuss how the Death Eaters could have gained entrance to the school, but their suggestions had yielded no practical possibilities.  
  
Snape had only known that the Death Eaters were plannng to infiltrate the school and play tricks; he had never believed they could actually do it, and had certainly never expected one to be played on him. He had no idea how they had done it, and wondered why they had not contacted him beforehand, as he could have made their job easier by letting them into the school. Lord Voldemort was clearly keeping him out of it.  
  
Confidentiality was of the essence. Albus Dumbledore managed to disperse the Dark Mark from the sky before the press or the Ministry caught wind of it, so that part of the situation was not made public. Only Professor Sprout and her class of Gryffindors had actually witnessed the Dark Mark, and since Death Eaters could easily break Secrecy Spells, Dumbledore was forced to magically remove that segment of their memories, so that after running from the greenhouse and standing outside, they remembered only being herded into the Great Hall with the rest of the students.  
  
The excision of the Dark Mark from the events ensured that only the Order of the Phoenix would know who had done the magic; otherwise it simply looked like pranks by expert and slightly sadistic students. This, however, created feelings of hostility and distrust between all the students, especially against Slytherin house, reputed and even boastful of its brutal exploits. It was worse than the inter-house tension during the Triwizard Tournament the year before; skirmishes broke out frequently, of great and small magnitude, and at a major one of these Harry happened to play a key part, though not as a combatant.  
  
One afternoon after classes, Harry and Hermione were walking through the Great Hall on their way to the library when a Hufflepuff second-year suddenly skidded round the corner and collided with Harry. She spotted Hermione's prefect badge and gave a gasp of relief.  
  
"A prefect! Please, you've got to come-there's about to be a fight upstairs-"  
  
The second-year led them upstairs and down a wide corridor, where a throng of young students were blocking the way. The students were gathered round two boys who faced off, wands raised.  
  
"How dare you insult my parents!" bellowed one of the boys, a third-year Ravenclaw named Quentin Madley.  
  
"They're Muggles, filthy Muggle lovers!" taunted Quentin's opponent, a Slytherin second-year called Malcolm Baddock. "What are you going to do, you Mudblood-"  
  
Malcolm never finished, because Quentin gave a scream of rage and half the students fired curses at once. The area became shrouded in smoke and the din from the spells was deafening, covering up the sound of Hermione's shrieking, "Stop! Stop!"  
  
The air cleared, but the students were still making a furious racket. Hermione pulled out her wand and shot white sparks over the crowd.  
  
"Quiet!" she shouted. The students fell silent. Hermione pushed her way to the duellers in the centre of the assembly, yelling as she shoved people aside. "Put away your wands! If I spot a wand, the one holding it will be suspended!"  
  
All the students hid their wands. Hermione reached the two boys and screamed. Harry, following her, could not contain a gasp.  
  
Quent Madley sat on the floor, dazed from the explosions but unscathed. Malcolm Baddock, lying nearby, was not so lucky. Since the students who'd shot him were all novices, their hexes had been for the most part ineffective; but they had managed to seal his lips shut, give him onions for ears, put various boils, needles, and tentacles on his face, and make his legs jerked crazily in a quickstep. He stared at Hermione, the panic clear in his eyes.  
  
Hermione rushed forward and tapped him with her wand. "Finite Incantatem!" she cried. His legs stopped moving and his onions became ears again, but no other change was apparent. Then Malcolm pointed at his throat and made muffled noises. He was clearly having difficulty breathing.  
  
"He's choking! Do something!" a hysterical Slytherin cried at Hermione.  
  
"Let me think!" Hermione snapped. She wrung her hands. "Let's see."  
  
She tried a number of countercurses, but nothing worked. Malcolm's gaze followed her piteously, beseeching. His face was turning red.  
  
Hermione jumped away from him, ashen. "I have to get Professor McGonagall!"  
  
"I'll go," Harry said.  
  
Hermione looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Harry! You know a lot about Potions!" She grabbed a Ravenclaw girl. "Orla, go fetch a teacher!" The girl ran off and Hermione turned back to Harry. "You remember what Snuffles said about Professor Figg? She published a paper about using potions to counteract curses."  
  
"I read that paper last week," said Harry, realizing what she wanted. "You want me to try? But I don't really remember much."  
  
"But Harry, I don't even know anything about that," Hermione said desperately. "I never read her paper. I study mostly Transfiguration. Please, you've got to try."  
  
Harry knew that. He nodded, knelt by Malcolm, and started pulling his Potions equipment out of his bag. Improvising, he fireproofed his hat to use for a cauldron and started a fire underneath.  
  
"If I can unglue his mouth I can see what spell closed his throat," he thought to himself. In his schoolbag he found a tube of potent Bundimun secretion, one of whose properties was a corrosive potency that made it a key ingredient in cleaning solutions. Harry dipped the handle of a knife in the tube, held it over Malcolm's face, and paused. "This will hurt a lot, but don't scream," he said to Malcolm, and then painted a thin line of the Bundimun's acidic liquid on the Malcolm's face.  
  
The boy's lips parted, to Harry's relief. Malcolm tried to draw breath and failed. But when the boy opened his mouth Harry saw that he seemed to have swallowed an Engorging Spell that had caused the walls of his throat to expand.  
  
"I can try a Deflating Draught," he said dubiously. He would have to be halve the measurement of Erumpent fluid or he could irreparably damage Malcolm's vocal cords. Though considering what he had just said to Quentin Madley, Harry thought, perhaps permanently silencing the Slytherin boy wouldn't be such a bad idea.  
  
He assembled the ingredients quickly, his hands trembling as he measured out leech juice. When it was finished he tipped the steaming concoction down Malcolm's gullet. It sizzled and seared as it went down- but it did the job. Malcolm was finally able to wheeze in some air. He coughed and gasped, clutching his scalded throat, but he was breathing.  
  
"You did it, Harry!" cried Hermione, dropping to her knees by the coughing Malcolm. Harry sat back on his haunches, feeling as if a great burden had fallen off his shoulders. Malcolm looked at him. "Thank you," he croaked feebly, rubbing his throat.  
  
Harry nodded, not knowing what to say.  
  
There was a commotion at the edge of the crowd as Harry applied an unguent of his own creation, a mixture of boil medicine and undiluted Bubotubor pus, to Malcolm's various facial growths. Looking up, Harry felt a nervous, sinking feeling in his stomach as Severus Snape shoved two students aside and reached the centre of the circle. All the students were silent immediately, fearful of this imposing man.  
  
"What," he said icily, "happened here?" His frosty gaze took in flustered Hermione, white-faced Harry, gasping Malcolm, and the mess of Potions equipment strewn across the floor.  
  
Hermione leaped to her feet. "Professor Snape, Malcolm Baddock and-"  
  
"Silence, Miss Granger!" thundered Snape, but she was in a position of some right now, and was determined to exercise her power.  
  
"I'm a school prefect, Professor!" she said, pointing at her badge. Snape blinked and frowned at it.  
  
"So you are, God save us," he said, scowling at Hermione, and when she refused to quail under his gaze he let her be. "Then you will enlighten me, in a calm, truthful, and impartial manner, as to what occurred here."  
  
Hermione related the story of the argument between Baddock and Madley, including the word employed by Malcolm at the height of the hostilities; at which point Snape regarded Malcolm with a cold eye, normally reserved for students of other houses. "Is Miss Granger's claim true, Mr. Baddock? Did you use the word 'Mudblood' to insult Mr. Madley?"  
  
Malcolm stared at the floor and mumbled in a weak whisper, "Yes sir."  
  
Hermione went on and explained how Malcolm had not been able to breathe, a condition cured by the creative Potion-brewing skills of Harry Potter. Snape was clearly skeptical, but when asked, Malcolm and two Slytherins in the crowd confirmed Hermione's statement. Snape finally looked directly at Harry, who stared back.  
  
"How did you know how to fix his throat?" Snape demanded, sounding accusing.  
  
Harry answered truthfully. "Because I had read Professor Figg's research on using Potions to cure curses, and she said that even the simplest Potions can sometimes be cures."  
  
Snape grabbed Malcolm's robes and hauled him to his feet. He examined Malcolm's face and inside his throat, muttering to himself. "No permanent damage. No scars, once this Bubotubor pus is wiped away. But I still don't understand." He released Malcolm and looked at Harry. "You never seemed to listen during Potions classes."  
  
"I did," said Harry. "And I studied Potions during the summer."  
  
"You weren't allowed," said Snape faintly.  
  
"I was staying with Professor Figg," Harry said, adding for no reason at all, "my godmother."  
  
Snape looked as if he'd been struck. "Professor Figg? Your godmother? Of course, she always liked Lily." He seemed to have forgotten who Harry was and where they were, because when he spoke his voice was reflective. "She taught me too, years ago."  
  
"I know," said Harry. "She said you were her best student."  
  
Harry thought that Snape came perilously close to smiling. Then suddenly Snape seemed to come back to himself. He looked round at the students gathered there in the middle of the hall. "What are you all doing, standing here?" he barked, making them all jump. "Get out of here!" The students scattered. Snape seized Quentin Madley and Malcolm Baddock as they tried to run. "Not you. You two and I are going to have a little discussion with Professor Sprout." He turned to Harry. "Potter."  
  
"Yes Professor?" Harry said, and felt Hermione tense up behind him, both thinking that a rebuke for messing up his Potions equipment was imminent.  
  
But Snape just stared at him, frowning, not in anger, but as if puzzled. "One hundred points to Gryffindor," he said unexpectedly. Harry's mouth dropped open. Snape gave him one last searching look, then whirled and strode away, dragging the two boys behind him. 


	37. The Thief

In the middle of the night Harry was jolted awake when a large bundle of fur landed on his face.  
  
He bolted upright, knocking his attacker onto the coverlet. "Tibbles!" he sputtered through a moutful of cat hairs. Tibbles bounded noiselessly off his lap and through the part in the bed hangings.  
  
Harry grumbled as he pushed the hangings aside and put on his glasses to look at the clock. It was one-thirty in the morning, an ungodly hour to be shocked awake.  
  
Harry grabbed his wand, intending to change Tibbles into a brick or something else inanimate. The animal perched on the windowsill, looking down into the grounds and growling. Growling angrily, menacingly, not purring.  
  
"What are you looking at?" Harry whispered, creeping up to the window. He looked down at the moonlight-flooded lawns to see a flaxen-haired woman sneaking across the grass towards the broom shed.  
  
Harry ran back to the trunk at the foot of his bed and dug out the Omnioculars he had gotten at the Quidditch World Cup. Going back to the window, he raised the Omnioculars to his face and caught a glimpse of the woman glancing all round herself, just before slipping through the door into the broom shed.  
  
"What." Harry murmured to himself. "Who is she?" he whispered to Tibbles. The Kneazle made no answer, only gazed at him intently.  
  
Harry was about to run for help when he saw her through the Omnioculars again as she left the broom shed. In the moonlight her long hair shimmered like silver. She was clutching a broom. He spun the zoom dial on the side to look at the logo etched into the end of the handle, and his heart stopped at the sight of a feather carved in the polished wood. She was taking Ron's Feather-Light broom!  
  
He focussed on her face. The ice-blue eyes scanned the stone walls of the school's stone walls. She seemed to be looking for a particular window. Her left hand was in her pocket, undoubtedly fingering a wand. Harry held his breath, hoping that she wouldn't see him.  
  
He wasn't even aware that he was leaning against the glass, so it came as a great shock when the window swung out and banged on the outside wall. The sudden movement drew the woman's attention. Her gaze flickered upwards and their eyes met.  
  
Immediately they recognized each other.  
  
"You!" cried Harry Potter and Maldora Lestrange at the same time.  
  
Maldora leaped at once onto the Feather-Light broom and took off.  
  
"Hey!" Harry dropped the Omnioculars on the floor and ran to his trunk. His Firebolt lay on top of his clothes. Never stopping to think, he climbed on and launched himself out the window.  
  
He chased her straight up through the wispy grey clouds and down to earth again. "Catch me if you can!" Maldora shouted gleefully. She tried to drill him into the ground with a well-executed Wronski Feint, which failed to dupe Harry, who had been a Quidditch Seeker long enough to recognize a Feint coming. She pulled up hard and soared higher again.  
  
They dipped and dove, Harry staying tight on her tail. They flew into the Quidditch stadium and wove through the golden hoops. Harry held onto the Firebolt with one hand and began firing curses at Maldora with his wand in the other; but she was an excellent flier, and dodged every one. All of a sudden Harry himself was nearly blasted off his broom. Maldora had her wand out and she was pointing over her shoulder at Harry, trying to knock him out of the air. She wasn't even looking over her shoulder while she shouted her curses. Her aim was very good, Harry observed when he nearly lost his glasses to a Reductor Curse.  
  
They flew on, both wands expelling bright jets of light that spiralled out into the darkness on either side of them. Finally Harry managed to singe her fair hair, and when she cried out and reached up to touch her hair he hit her with a Disarming Spell. Her wand fell to the ground far below as she was blasted forward off the broom.  
  
Harry braked hard and watched her fall, preparing to throw a Stunner as soon as she landed-but twenty feet from the field the Feather-Light broom caught her safely, like it had caught Ron at the first Quidditch match. Harry let out a half-shout of dismay and frustration at the incredible luck of his opponent.  
  
She turned back for her wand, but he moved forward quickly and shot Stunners at her. She was forced to pull up and leave her wand on the grass. She floated up to the same level as him. And there they hovered in midair, facing off a hundred feet above the Quidditch pitch.  
  
"Do you know who I am?" she demanded, drawing herself up imperiously.  
  
"Lestrange," Harry panted, trying to catch his breath.  
  
"Yes." She flipped back her shining flaxen hair over her shoulder. She looked extremely well, Harry thought, for someone who had spent over a decade in the company of the soul-sucking Dementors. Sirius Black had kept a haunted look from his time in Azkaban, something Harry did not see in her face. "I am the magnificent Maldora Lestrange! And you are the pitiable Harry Potter. What else do you know about me? Tell me."  
  
"You're a Death Eater," Harry said.  
  
"True, and proud of it. Lord Voldemort will one day rule the world, and I and my husband will be right by his side!" Her eyes sparkled.  
  
Harry suddenly fired a curse at her, but she tipped to one side and rolled over in the air to miss it.  
  
"You killed Arabella Figg's husband," Harry accused when she was upright again.  
  
"Faustus Figg? It's true. Foolish Faustus was in my way. So is that nasty wife of his, Arabella Figg. I'll kill her too. And you, her little darling, you will die as well!"  
  
"You're unarmed," Harry pointed out.  
  
"But I'm the better flier, I have years more experience! And I'm faster than you any day, especially on my Feather-Light broom. Lord Voldemort wants your head on a pike, Harry Potter. He'll shower me with rewards."  
  
Harry flew at her, more out of pure nerve and shock than bravery-but at the last second she did a Woollongong Shimmy and he missed.  
  
"That's Ron's broom, you stole it!" shouted Harry.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, it was mine in the first place," Maldora shouted back.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped as he began to understand something. He was in the grip of slow, sickening realization. Hadn't he had the clues all along? He'd always known the truth, he had only to see it inside his head.  
  
Maldora Lestrange's nonexistent past, her lack of background until the sudden and mysterious emergence into the world.  
  
The devouring of Dai Llewellyn by a Chimaera.  
  
The murder of Honoura Prewett, a former Hogwarts student.  
  
Maldora's remarkable and very unusual ability to resist the Dementors' powers.  
  
Her Quidditch manoeuvres, so well-executed.  
  
The Feather-Light broom and her claim of previous ownership.  
  
And most telling of all, that old photograph of a black cat and its owner, a beautiful little girl with fair hair like flax and icy blue eyes, who had grown up into a powerful witch with the selfsame features; the witch who now faced him and told him she was going to kill him.  
  
She was grinning at him. "Solange," he said slowly.  
  
Her eyes widened. She shook her head mutely.  
  
"Yes! You're Solange Figg," Harry said, flabbergasted by his own words. "That's why you're obsessed with killing Arabella Figg-she's your mother."  
  
"No!" she cried, panicked, and Harry knew he was right. She looked wildly for her wand, but it was lying fifty yards behind Harry, while his wand was aimed at her heart.  
  
"Stupefy!" he cried, but it was dodged. Then Maldora Lestrange, nee Solange Figg, turned and flew on into the night. 


	38. Admission of Guilt

Harry was still reeling from what he just realized, but he knew he must not waste any time. He flew down to retrieve her dropped wand. Then he flew back through the open window of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.  
  
He shook Ron awake. Ron's eyelids fluttered.  
  
"Wha- Harry? What's going on? Why've you got your Firebolt out? Is there a match today?"  
  
"Maldora Lestrange was here, Ron!"  
  
Ron struggled to sit up. "What?"  
  
"She took your broom."  
  
"What?" Ron was still unable to grasp what Harry was trying to say.  
  
"She was here, in the Quidditch stadium! But Ron- she's not Maldora Lestrange!"  
  
"But you just said-"  
  
"Yes, but I didn't mean that she wasn't her, I meant that she was her and someone else, but I can't explain!" Harry threw down his Firebolt on Ron's bed and ran out of the dormitory.  
  
He headed straight for the girls' room and pounded on the door. "Hermione! Hermione!"  
  
The door opened, and Hermione in her white dressing-gown looked at him blearily. Behind her Harry could see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil sitting up in bed, rubbing their eyes, and two cats, Crookshanks and Tigris, came and rubbed at Hermione's shins. "Harry, what is it?"  
  
"Maldora Lestrange came to Hogwarts and took Ron's broom."  
  
Hermione started. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Maldora Lestrange! Hermione, we have to tell Professor Figg! Where's her room?"  
  
"Oh- Harry, I don't know! But Professor McGonagall-she would know!"  
  
Hermione rushed down the stairs and through the common room, with Harry close behind. They pushed out through the portrait hole into the corridor, where Hermione ducked behind a heavy tapestry hanging beside the sleeping Fat Lady. Harry followed her in, and found himself in a small stone chamber, longer than it was wide, with four identical portraits of a beautiful slumbering Roman goddess in full armour, holding a lance. Hermione went to the picture on the farthest left and shouted at the goddess, who awoke with a start.  
  
"I want to see Professor McGonagall," Hermione said. "It's urgent!"  
  
The portrait swung out and the head of Gryffindor in her tartan nightdress was glaring at them. "Do you know what time it is? What do you want?"  
  
"Maldora Lestrange was here," Harry said. He did not know whether Professor McGonagall knew Maldora's real identity. "I have to talk to Professor Figg!"  
  
For a moment Minerva McGonagall blanched and looked as if she was about to faint. Harry and Hermione sprang forward, but she grasped the portrait- hole frame to steady herself. She whispered, "Here? Her?" She faltered. "But that's impossible!"  
  
"I saw her myself," Harry insisted. "I want to talk to Professor Figg!"  
  
Professor McGonagall slowly recovered. "Miss Granger, please return to the Gryffindor common room. If anyone asks you what is going on, tell them nothing! Tell them to go back to bed. Go on, Miss Granger, if you please." Hermione rushed out. Professor McGonagall turned to one of the Roman goddesses in the portraits, who by now were all awake and alert. "One of you must run up to the Headmaster's room and wake him. Tell him Maldora Lestrange dropped by and met Harry Potter. Tell him also that I will be with Arabella Figg." The goddess on the far right scurried out of the frame, armour clinking. "Harry-this way. We will see Professor Figg."  
  
They hurried through the cold, empty halls, Professor McGonagall's hand tight on Harry's shoulder, pushing him ahead.  
  
"You know who Maldora Lestrange really is, don't you?" Harry asked.  
  
The grip on his shoulder tensed. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"You and Professor Figg are old friends, if she told anyone it would be you," Harry pressed. He remembered the stray cat that had occasionally visited Mrs. Figg's house during the summer. "Minnie?"  
  
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "All right, Potter, Minnie the cat was me. And I know that Maldora Lestrange is Arabella Figg's disowned daughter. But how did you know?"  
  
"I figured it out on my own," Harry said.  
  
"Solange was such a beautiful little girl," Professor McGonagall whispered, half to herself. "What went wrong?" Then she would not speak anymore.  
  
They ran up two flights of stairs and found a dead end at the top of the steps. On the wall in front of them was a large painting of a set of glass beakers and containers, each holding an amount of liquid. Professor McGonagall drew out her wand and tapped on a beaker of purple liquid. Harry heard the glass chime clearly inside a chamber behind the painting.  
  
"Bella!" Professor McGonagall called urgently. "Bella, you've got to wake up!"  
  
"Minerva?" said Professor Figg sleepily from behind the painting.  
  
"Bella, I'm coming in. Solange was here."  
  
"What?" Professor Figg suddenly sounded panicked. "What did you say?"  
  
"I'm coming in," repeated Professor McGonagall. She traced the outline of a beaker of orange liquid with the tip of her wand, and it popped out of the picture as a doorknob. Professor McGonagall turned the knob and the painting swung open to admit them both to Arabella Figg's living quarters.  
  
It was a simple rectangular room, not very big but warm and cozy, and furnished much more elegantly than her home in Little Whinging. The walls were walnut panelled and decorated with large wizard photographs, whose subjects presently stirred from sleep and asked people in other pictures what the ruckus was all about. A lavish chandelier descended from the ceiling, and moonlight from the large windows on the long wall winked in each crystal. Along the wall, under the windows, were five empty pillow- lined baskets, cat beds. Loyola, an aging grey cat, sat atop a bookcase, watching them silently.  
  
Arabella Figg was sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed. She had thrown the covers back and she was pulling on the pink slippers which matched her pink dressing-gown.  
  
"She was here?" Professor Figg said to Professor McGonagall as she struggled to her feet, white-faced. "You saw her?"  
  
"Potter saw her," Professor McGonagall said, pulling him forward. "And he knows she's Solange."  
  
"Did she tell you?" Professor Figg asked him fretfully. "Did she say Solange was her name?"  
  
"No, she said she was Maldora Lestrange. When I called her Solange she said 'No' and flew away."  
  
Professor Figg turned away and leaned against the bedpost. "So now you know," she said softly. "Arabella Figg, Auror extraodinaire, lost my own daughter to the dark side. If anyone found out-the press, the Ministry, the magical community-I'd be ruined!" She put her face in her hands. "I brought that vile wretch into the world. It's my fault."  
  
"It's not your fault," Professor McGonagall said, touching her shoulder. "You can't blame yourself."  
  
"Minerva's right, Bella," said Dumbledore, stepping through the painting doorway. "She chose her own path."  
  
Professor Figg shook her head sadly. "Oh, Albus. But we must hear Potter's story now. Potter, tell us what happened."  
  
Harry told her about being woken up by Tibbles and seeing a witch tiptoeing across the lawn into the broom shed, and witnessing the theft of the Feather-Light broom. Professor Figg said nothing as he recounted the particulars of the midair battle, but she was interested when he said that Maldora had dropped her wand. She took both wands and examined them closely. At length she looked to Dumbledore, frowning.  
  
"It's not the same wand she used to have. It couldn't be, of course, I burned that one myself soon after her imprisonment. This is a brand-new wand. Fortunately it's completely different from Potter's."  
  
"What are you saying?" said Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Well, Potter's wand is from Ollivander's, and Maldora's is from Gregorovitch. Thankfully Ollivander hasn't gone back to the other side, but now they've somehow got that Gregorovitch supplying the escaped Death Eaters with wands."  
  
Dumbledore inspected the two wands together. "Bella is right. In the morning I'll place Phoenixes in Gregorovitch's town and organize a raid. He may have clues or information on the fugitives' whereabouts." Dumbledore looked grim.  
  
"Potter, in which direction did she leave?" Professor Figg asked.  
  
Harry thought hard. "West, I think. West is the shortest distance to the end of Hogwarts property, so she could get out of the grounds fastest going west and Apparate anywhere else."  
  
"Good, Potter, good," Professor Figg said approvingly. Then she frowned. "Wait a minute. Potter, and this is very important, so think hard: which way did Maldora come from?"  
  
Harry mentally replayed Maldora's movements, observed from his window. "I can't remember." Then his stomach lurched when he grasped her suspicion. "She had her back to me when she was walking across the lawn. I guess she came from the school."  
  
There was a silence; and then Professor McGonagall said, "But that's impossible! Wouldn't we have been alerted if she tried to enter the castle?"  
  
"Perhaps she found an alternate route," Dumbledore said.  
  
"What if someone let her in?" Harry said. He meant Snape, but didn't think it wise to say the name in front of the three teachers. But Dumbledore cast him a swift look with his piercing blue eyes.  
  
"No one let her in, Harry," he said. "It's possible she wasn't inside the school at all. Unless you distinctly saw her opening a door and stepping out, we have no proof that she hadn't just been near the castle and walked away when you saw her."  
  
Professor Figg sighed. "I have a lot of work ahead of me. You three had better go. Potter, back to bed. I promise you she won't be back today. Minerva, you should go to bed as well. I'll wake you if I figure anything out. And Albus." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Well, it's early morning in Gregorovitch's neck of the woods, if you want to have a talk with him."  
  
"Quite right," Dumbledore said, checking his gold pocket watch against the wall clock. "Come along Minerva, Harry. Bella, you won't sleep, not even a few hours? I'll keep watch."  
  
"I'd rather deal with this now," Professor Figg said. Harry had never seen her with this grim determination on her face. Gone was the sarcastic, dryly amused Arabella Figg who joked with her students and threw surprise birthday parties; here was an aged and weary witch who was being forced to work at 2 a.m. to catch an old rival - her own progeny. She caught him looking at her then, and suddenly smiled sadly at him. "I'll get her," she assured him; leaving unsaid, "before she gets me." 


	39. Happy Hallowe'en?

October 31st, Halloween, was a day of tremendous excitement for the magical community, especially at Hogwarts. The Great Hall was festooned with lavish orange and black decorations, and orange fairies flitted, tittering gaily, among the grinning jack-o-lanterns that floated overhead. The tables were laden with regular food, and trays of sweets and pastries. The hall was full of students' chatter and the clatter of cutlery on plates as Harry, Ron and Neville walked into the Great Hall.  
  
"Happy Halloween!" Seamus Finnigan, with a mouthful of Bertie Botts' jelly beans, greeted them as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. "Eat and make merry!"  
  
"Now what have we got here?" said Ron, rubbing his hands together with the air of a seasoned gourmet. He set himself on a scrumptious trifle.  
  
"Try the grilled salmon," said Lavender Brown, pushing the plate towards Neville.  
  
Neville made a face. "Fish! I've been eating fish all summer. My gran read somewhere that it improves your memory, so she made fish nearly every night to give me a better memory."  
  
"How much fish did you eat every night?" Harry asked him.  
  
"At least three pounds! No-maybe four-well it might have been two." Neville scratched his head. "I really don't remember."  
  
The students were in the middle of their feasting when suddenly the doors at the end of the hall banged open and a giant man burst into the room. Hermione gasped because he was covered in blood and burns, Harry gasped because he was carrying a small woman and her left side was severely scorched; but Ron cried out loud in horror, because it was Mundungus Fletcher with his fiancee Perdita Clemens in his arms.  
  
"Fletch!" Dumbledore cried, rising in a hurry. "What's going on?"  
  
Fletch ran down the Great Hall, his long strides carrying him to the teachers' table. There he fell to both knees before the Headmaster. "Dumbledore!" Fletch choked out. His voice carried clearly in the silence. "Attack in Hogsmeade-dragon! It was- them!"  
  
For a fraction of a second. the students was completely still. Then the whole room erupted in a frenzy of panic and disorder. Everyone leaped to their feet and surged to the doors in one giant tumultuous flood.  
  
"Silence!" bellowed Dumbledore. The students halted. "Remain here! Head Boy and Girl, prefects, make sure no one leaves the room for any reason!" He turned to Professor McGonagall and they conferred in whispers. Then Dumbledore and Professors Figg, Vector, and Flitwick picked up Fletch and hurried out of the Great Hall. Professor Snape, looking apprehensive, carried Perdita Clemens out of the room, presumably to the infirmary.  
  
"Return to your places," ordered Professor McGonagall. The students reluctantly filed back to their tables and took their seats. The Great Hall filled anew with the chatter of the students, but now it was frightened and fretful.  
  
Harry discussed the matter with Ron and Hermione. "Obviously Fletch meant the Death Eaters when he said 'them'," Ron said. He bit his lip. "I can't stop thinking about how bad he looked. He was burned everywhere and covered in blood." His voice trailed away and he shook his head.  
  
" 'Dragon', he said," Hermione said, frowning. "Is it possible at all that it escaped by itself and came here? There are dragon reservations in the Outer Hebrides and in Wales."  
  
Ron shook his head. "Charlie said dragons are reclusive by nature. They're not the travelling type, I mean. It's very unlikely that a dragon would leave a safe, comfortable reservation to come all the way here and tear up wizards. No, what's more likely is that someone-Death Eaters, by Fletch's words-went to a reservation and took a dragon out of it to bring here. "  
  
"So the Death Eaters abducted a dragon and set it on Hogsmeade?" Hermione said.  
  
"And Fletch and Perdita were in town, probably celebrating Halloween at the Three Broomsticks," Harry said. His heart wrenched as he too recalled the big man's wounds. Then he thought about Perdita. "She's pregnant!" he said suddenly, remembering her motherly bliss only a month before. "What if she loses the baby?"  
  
Hermione was alarmed. "A miscarriage? Oh no!"  
  
"Why did this happen?" Ron asked, letting his forehead thump on the table. "Why?"  
  
"Voldemort wants to frighten us," Harry said.  
  
"He's doing a good job of it too," Ron said into the tablecloth.  
  
"But how did he get the dragon here?" Hermione asked. "It couldn't be very hard for him to steal a dragon, but how could he find Hogsmeade? And- and those pranks a couple weeks ago! People said they were the Slytherins' work, but I thought they were too good. I mean, flooding the dungeons, infesting the school with Bundimun, enchanting all those first-years' wands to make matchsticks into snakes. That stuff's too advanced for students. We could have been killed. It must have been the Death Eaters."  
  
"But how?" said Harry. "You've reminded us a thousand times that Hogwarts is Unplottable and hidden by a million other magical methods."  
  
"So then how did he find us here?" said Ron, raising his head. "Assuming he didn't take the Hogwarts Express with us in September."  
  
"He must have an agent inside the school," Hermione said. "If he did play those tricks -somehow he's gotten a Death Eater into the school and he or she is doing work for Voldemort."  
  
"Or," said Harry slowly, "if the Death Eater is in here, he or she could have led Voldemort himself right to Hogwarts."  
  
This was the more terrifying suggestion. The three had sudden visions of Lord Voldemort calmly walking into their midst and blasting the school to bits. Hogwarts was supposed to be the one sanctuary that Voldemort could not physically pervade. Having a Death Eater on the grounds was frightening enough; but to have the evil wizard himself present in their last safe haven was an alarming prospect indeed.  
  
An hour later they were released from the Great Hall and taken directly to their common rooms. The students passed the evening in terror and restless apprehension. No news was heard from Hogsmeade that evening, but Hufflepuff and Slytherin, whose windows faced the town, could look on the devastation that had occurred. Half the town was ablaze, and the houses and shops lay as rubble. People stood in the street, gaping at the ruins of the town that they had believed their untouchable shelter against such events. The numerous wounded were tended throughout the night by witch- doctors brought in from nearby cities and from St. Mungo's Hospital; the dead, of which there were thankfully few, were buried in the town's graveyard, and their deaths were greatly lamented. It was a sleepless night for many.  
  
The next morning the Daily Prophet's front page shouted DRAGON ATTACK IN HOGSMEADE. Harry pored over the newspaper article, which gave full details of the incident.  
  
At approximately 7:30 the night before, Hogsmeade had been celebrating Halloween. Many of the inhabitants were congregated in the Three Broomsticks pub, including well-known Aurors Mundungus Fletcher and Perdita Clemens. The festivities were abruptly cut short when revellers in the street spotted a large winged speck approaching in the sky from the northeast. Witnesses reported that as the dragon got closer, it breathed out a giant column of flame that engulfed a block of houses and Dervish and Banges, the wizard equipment shop. It carried two masked riders, who had thrown a chain round its neck and stood on its back between the great black wings. The identity of the riders was as of yet unknown, but according to reliable sources of the Prophet, they were most likely Death Eaters, possibly two of the escapees of the Azkaban jailbreak earlier that month.  
  
The dragon landed in the centre of the town and swept away half the town in one sweeping stroke of its massive tail. The quaint little village was turned into a place of utter destruction and wreckage by a massive beast that this morning was identified as a Hungarian Horntail, abducted from a dragon colony in Sweden a few hours before. It escaped into the sky some ten minutes after its arrival. The final count: twelve dead, one hundred and seven wounded.  
  
Perdita Clemens sustained many injuries. She and Fletch had been carousing with friends in the Three Broomsticks when the roof exploded in flames. Both rushed to find out what was happening and Fletch, being phenomenally tall and strong, was called outside to help keep the ceiling from collapsing on their heads. Perdita and two other Aurors tried to fix the damage from indoors, but a burning roof timber crashed down on her left shoulder. Severus Snape, whom Dumbledore had appointed Perdita's guardian until Fletch's return, carried her to the infirmary to be tended by Madam Pomfrey. Perdita had received severe burns and a broken collarbone and left arm. Due to trauma, she also lost her baby. Surgeon wizards from St. Mungo's Hospital removed the unborn child from her body while she was still unconscious. Snape stood outside the door, white-faced, thinking dark thoughts and wondering how they were going to break the news to her.  
  
The left side of her face also had gruesome blisters from the fire, but Madam Pomfrey's magical medicines almost completely cured those, leaving only faint scars on her fair cheek. But blemishes were cause for great concern to Perdita, who, despite her many delightful qualities, suffered a huge lack of self-esteem, and was exceedingly vain. She gazed at her scarred reflection in the mirror for a long time; then she cried. For hours Snape sat awkwardly by her, holding her hand, as Perdita wept, grieving for her child, her disfigurement, and her fiance.  
  
Snape had been reluctant at first to look after Perdita, having no particular love for the girl or for the position of bodyguard; but he came to enjoy his new power. Harry, Ron and Hermione pleaded to be allowed to see her, but they were barred entry to the infirmary by Severus Snape, who was determined to keep his promise to Dumbledore to keep Perdita Clemens safe, and despised Harry. "She will see no one," Snape snapped, taking immense pleasure from their indignation. He also began to almost like the girl. Perdita reminded him of someone he had known once, a long time ago.  
  
Snape was present when Fletch and Perdita were reunited on November 1st. He let Fletch into the hospital wing, which was filled with Hogsmeade's injured villagers. Perdita hid her face when he entered.  
  
"Don't look at me! I'm hideous!" she wailed. Fletch sat down on the bed.  
  
"Somehow I doubt that very much. Perdita, let me see your beautiful face."  
  
He took her chin in his hand and turned her scarred, tear-streaked to the light. "It's not so bad. The scars look livid red now, but they'll fade in time. Perdita darling, it's all right."  
  
"I lost the baby," she said. Fletch stroked her face sadly.  
  
"I know. They told me. It was like a slap in the face. I can't believe it."  
  
Perdita looked up fearfully. "Do you blame me? You don't love me anymore! You're going to leave me!"  
  
"No! Heavens no. We'll survive this together. We'll be married in the spring, and we'll have dozens of children and grandchildren and great- grandchildren, and we'll grow old together and die when we're two hundred. Darling, it will be all right. I love you more than ever."  
  
He kissed her forehead and they held each other and wept while Snape stood by sourly, thinking bitter thoughts of lost love and young romance. 


	40. Severus: Alone and Friendless

Time went inexorably on. November came, and with it the first frosts of the winter season. Severus Snape regarded the hoarfrost on the windowpanes with irony. Once he had taken the coming of the frigid, lonely winter as a symbol of the season of life that he approached; now it came in contrast to the ice that was melting from his cold heart. All because of Perdita Clemens, that Auror girl who had been injured in the Hogsmeade attack on Halloween.  
  
The girl slowly recuperated and was able to leave the infirmary in mid- November. Snape was disappointed to have to say good-bye. He knew he had only been assigned to guard her because it kept him away from the wreckage of Hogsmeade, from the Phoenixes and Aurors whom he disliked, from the eyes of Voldemort's spies, possibly watching the village from afar; but in truth Snape had rather enjoyed being someone's protector. Also, the girl, knowing little of his appalling past and caring even less, treated him not with distrust, like many of her Phoenix colleagues, but with genuine kindness.  
  
One night she could not sleep and they played wizard chess. She had innocently enquired whether he had been Potions master since leaving school. At first he thought she was being mocking, deliberately mean; but when he realized she really didn't know, he felt compelled to confess to her that he had been a Death Eater. Then she understood why he was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and why everyone, Fletch included, spoke his name with a wary sort of acrimony. She did not hate him, however; his mistakes had been made and paid for, she said, and she respected him more for his honesty. Snape could not find the courage to tell her that he was still making mistakes, and that he hadn't finished paying for the ones he had made before, would never finish paying until he was dead.  
  
There was sincere regret on both sides when the two, who in two weeks had become quite attached, parted. Against all odds, Snape realized, they had become friends. Just after the fall of Lord Voldemort, when he had panicked and sold out his comrades for immunity from the Ministry, it had given Snape quite a shock to realize that he had no friends left; that shock, whenever he was reminded now of his loneliness, had dulled to a throb in the nether regions of his heart.  
  
These things he had revealed to no one. Until Perdita Clemens, Snape had not had a real friend since his schoolboy days at Hogwarts, when his social circle had included fiercely loyal friends like Derrick Lestrange. Severus had been much younger than Derrick, so Lestrange had been a kind of role model. But he had left Hogwarts in third year, and had returned to England an affirmed Death Eater.  
  
Lestrange and Snape, old friends from school, had reunited and enjoyed a brief period in the exclusive group of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters. Lestrange still held that position now, but Snape was getting nervous, and with good reason. He was not being contacted for anything- Voldemort was deliberately keeping him in the dark. The pranks at school, the dragon- he hadn't known about any of it until it had happened. Even the jailbreak- he hadn't found out until a month later, at the next meeting to which he was called, when he had been greeted by Lestrange in the flesh. Afterwards Snape had struggled with himself: if he told Dumbledore about the jailbreak, it would become painfully obvious to the other Death Eaters that he was spying for the Order of the Phoenix, as he had apparently been the last of them to learn of the escape; but if he did not tell, how else could Dumbledore find out?  
  
In the end he had told Albus, but had pleaded for discretion and a reasonable delay, which were duly promised. Was Dumbledore a friend? Albus Dumbledore-teacher, leader, all-knowing sage; but friend? Though Dumbledore always claimed to be everyone's friend, in the end Snape knew the disparity between himself and that great wizard was too wide to bridge. As often as Dumbledore might incur Snape's ire by favouring the brat Potter, Severus knew the wise, sagacious Albus was ten thousand times the wizard Snape would ever be. The Headmaster was incorruptible, a pure untainted force to lead their side in the war against the thoroughly evil Lord Voldemort; whereas Snape was too much like Voldemort himself.  
  
Arabella Figg's face- handsome, smiling, wrinkled (careworn, as Minerva McGonagall sometimes said fondly)- leaped to mind when Snape thought of friends, but was their relationship really friendship? Certainly Bella had mentored Snape, taught him everything he knew about Potions. How easy it was to brew Potions- a plain science, requiring no philosophy or self- assessment. "Pour chopped ginger roots into cauldron, stir counterclockwise for ninety seconds, cover and let simmer." Easy enough to do, easier than murder. And yet murder was simply raising a wand and pronouncing two words, two short words that for Snape had left a bitter, dirty taste on his tongue. Bella had imparted to him a passion for Potions, something he could keep forever inside himself, no matter what else he did. But Bella, like Dumbledore, was pure. Snape felt unworthy of Bella's and Dumbledore's friendship, and voluntarily isolated himself from them when he could.  
  
Where else could he turn for friendship? The real members of the Order of the Phoenix steered clear of him, feeling it was career suicide to associate with a former Death Eater. Severus Snape had a stigma, a disgraceful aura that pushed people away. Remus Lupin was secure enough of himself to subtly offer Snape his friendship, but though Snape knew beggars couldn't be choosers, he wasn't so desperate for company to take up with a werewolf and best friend of James Potter. And Mundungus Fletcher- Snape respected him well enough, but Fletch saw only the forked tongue of a Death Eater when Snape addressed him.  
  
That was why Snape enjoyed the company of Perdita Clemens. It was in her nature to love without prejudice, and not judge as others did. And she was so young: older, more mature, than the brats he taught, but not as old was the venerable Dumbledore. She carried with her the sins of youth itself, that intangible delinquent appeal unique to the young. Snape had never met such a person. For the first time in a long time he loved someone. It was a platonic love, not the kind that Fletch had for Perdita- Snape could see the man had marked his territory. But it was her vivacity that attracted him: she was so alive! Bella was ancient, Albus even more so, and Snape himself, painfully obvious as a spy in Voldemort's circle, took a step closer to Death's waiting arms every day.  
  
He had only ever known one other person so alive as Perdita. Solange Figg had been different from Perdita in that Perdita was innately good, whereas Solange was innately bad. Young Severus had known it the moment he saw Solange, but it hadn't kept him from wanting her. Bella Figg's family had Veela blood in it somewhere, Snape knew, which may have explained his desire for the beautiful, Veela-like Solange. But she, too, had been alive, living every day to the fullest. Snape wondered, had he felt so dead even in his youth, that he would want someone alive to counter his numbness? She was the only woman he'd ever been in love with. She'd known he was in love with her, but she'd made it clear the feelings weren't mutual.  
  
For Solange's part, she'd been in love with Derrick Lestrange since they'd all been in Slytherin together. Snape supposed those two had known they would end up together, and that was why Solange had never shown emotion for anyone after Derrick had moved away.  
  
Severus had been infinitely miserable the day he heard she was dead. Perhaps his love for Solange had been the reason he had become so attached to her mother, Bella. He'd known she was a retired Auror, and had found it hard to believe that Solange, his very Slytherin Solange, was descended from a former Gryffindor. And though he already knew he would become a Death Eater when he left school, Snape had let himself become Professor Figg's favourite student. Maybe he felt that in a way he was with Solange.  
  
Then Derrick Lestrange had returned to England. When Snape heard he had married a Death Eater witch, he had known the identity of the mystery bride immediately. The realization had struck him like lightning: she'd faked her own death in order to leave England and marry Derrick Lestrange.  
  
He hadn't told Professor Figg because he hadn't wanted her to know Solange was alive and back in the country, though it hadn't occurred to him that she knew, had always known, who Maldora Lestrange was. Few had connected the evil Maldora Lestrange with Solange Figg, the sweet beautiful daughter of famous Auror Arabella Figg, and the only other people who knew her true identity were her old friends who were now Death Eaters as well: Avery, MacNair, Nott, Mulciber, and the rest; and Snape. When he'd heard she was dead, sixteen-year-old Severus had given up all hope of finding love ever again- Solange had had that effect on him. When she materialized again in his life he had immediately fallen in love with her again.  
  
The problem was, she was a married woman, and as he now recognized that Perdita's heart belonged to Fletch, he needed to see that Maldora belonged to Derrick Lestrange. Yet- he couldn't let go. It was living that adolescent yearning all over again, and again she did not reciprocate; but she also did not tell Derrick. If Derrick knew Severus was in love with his wife, he would have duelled Snape and killed him. Lord Voldemort knew it, and had expressly requested Maldora not to tell her husband. Back in those days Snape had been useful to Voldemort and he wished to keep his Death Eaters from fighting.  
  
Then Voldemort had fallen, and the Lestranges had been banished to Azkaban, partially because of Snape's testimony. Snape had breathed easier. Now his clumsy adoration had come back to haunt him. Derrick and Maldora Lestrange were alive and free, and at the last Death Eaters meeting Voldemort had taken him aside privately and threatened him. Only the two of them knew what had been said.  
  
The conference was brief and to the point: Voldemort knew that Snape was spying for Dumbledore. He also knew Snape was in love with Maldora. Two strikes against Snape.  
  
Snape was given a choice: he could continue spying for Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort would allow Maldora to inform Derrick Lestrange of alleged advances by Snape, who would promptly be killed by Lestrange; or he could be a good Death Eater, obey Voldemort, and feed Dumbledore false information, becoming a double-double agent, and his life would be spared, at least for a while. If he did not accept the conditions of either of these choices, or if he went to Dumbledore, or if he later broke his promise, he would be killed on the spot by Voldemort himself, and his name and memory vilified and spit upon.  
  
Snape was caught between two rocks and a hard place. But he knew which answer would at least give him time to think of a way out.  
  
He had promised to betray Dumbledore. 


	41. The Second Thief

During all the excitement in October, Quidditch matches had been cancelled or postponed, and the issue of the theft of Ron's- or rather Maldora's- Feather-Light broomstick had been at the back of everyone's minds; but in November the school tentatively attempted to return life to something resembling normalcy by restarting the Quidditch matches.

Thus Ron, already wracked with worry and anguish, now had the added burden of finding another racing broom to ride. Begging his parents didn't work, raiding the broom shed yieled nothing, and Harry and Hermione had no suggestions. Ron despaired. He would be removed from the team, excised from his last chance at distinction. Overwhelmed by gloom, he gave up.

But Professor Figg had come through for him once before, and she did it again. One Thursday evening she vanished, and Professor McGonagall would not say where her friend had gone, but only walked about looking anxious; but Friday morning Professor Figg was back. She called them to her office after breakfast. She was not there when they arrived, but a moment afterward she limped in and laid the Nimbus Feather-Light, polished and magnificent, on the desk. Ron picked it up and stared at it.

"This isn't-" he stammered. "This isn't the one she took, is it?"

Professor Figg nodded wearily. "I happened to- run into Maldora Lestrange this weekend and took it back from her."

"Why are you limping?" Harry demanded, remembering his promise to Sirius to watch out for Arabella Figg.

"It was an unpleasant run-in," she said flatly, pullling herself behind her desk and sitting down. Harry noticed a fresh, nasty-looking scar on her neck, and a fading blue bruise on her cheek under her left eye.

"A duel?" he said in astonishment.

"You duelled Maldora Lestrange to get a broom?" Hermione said incredulously.

"Wow, thanks!" said Ron.

"It wasn't just the broom," Professor Figg said. "The Lestranges and I, as you obviously know, have unfinished business."

"Namely, you felt compelled to chase after them like a madwoman," Harry said, feeling inexplicably belligerent.

Professor Figg looked at him sharply. "What do you want me to do, Potter?" she asked. "Wait here for them to come kill me?"

"Dumbledore can protect you!" Harry said, and then, carried away by his anger, continued, "The Or-"

"Stop!" Professor Figg interrupted shrilly, rising painfully. Her dark blue eyes were narrowed at Harry. "Don't say it!"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, and stubbornly persisted, "But Dumbledore can-"

"Professor Dumbledore can't stop me from going after them," Professor Figg snapped, "and you can't expect me to sit here, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the axe to fall."

They stared at each for a few seconds, the presence of Hermione and Ron completely forgotten. Then Harry backed off.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But- I promised I wouldn't let you risk your life."

"But you can't stop me," Professor Figg said gently. "And I'm a grown witch, Potter, I can take care of myself."

Harry nodded finally. "Snuffles said you never failed to catch your Death Eaters."

Professor Figg grinned. "I caught them once, I can do it again. Go on now. Enjoy yourself, Weasley."

"Thanks, Professor," Ron said, still fingering the broomstick in awe, as they left.

When they were gone, Arabella Figg sat down heavily, and put her head in her hands and wept.

Last Wednesday night Severus Snape had been called to a midnight meeting of the Death Eaters. He had returned at 3 a.m., eyes glassy, and stumbled straight to his room in the dungeons. Bella and Dumbledore had been in the Entrance Hall to receive him, but he had shaken his head when he'd seen them and gasped, "Only let me sleep!"

In the morning he had regained his composure. The meeting had taken place inside a vast, dark building, the exterior of which he hadn't seen. His position there was in jeopardy, he said, omitting to tell Dumbledore that his cover had already broken. But he was a good actor, and every word was spoken believably. He was not allowed to give the Order of the Pheonix many details or much truth, but he had told Bella that Maldora and Derrick Lestrange had both flown in on broomsticks instead of Apparating. Derrick rode a Firebolt, and Maldora the prized Feather-Light. She had told everyone she'd stolen it from Hogwarts in the middle of the night and escaped unseen. Snape knew she was lying to boost her reputation, but he hadn't been able to refute the claim because when she looked at him, the threat of divulgence was in her ice-blue eyes. He didn't tell this last part to Bella, of course; he only told her that Maldora had been bragging about the theft of the Feather-Light.

That was what had set her off. When she'd heard of Maldora's boasts, Bella had felt a white rage overcome her. The broom had belonged to her daughter Solange, so a witch named Maldora should not have it. When Solange had faked her own death she had left no will, so everything reverted to her parents; therefore the Feather-Light broom was rightfully Bella Figg's, and she was going to get it back.

She'd walked out of Hogwarts the following evening with only her wand and Quintius Croaker's Invisibility Cloak, not knowing where she was going or what she would do to get there. She didn't have a clue to Maldora's whereabouts, but she thought that after all these years of hunting Maldora she could fairly guess.

Her intuition took her to a shabby, rundown little shack in a London rookery. Solange had adored elegance and luxury, and knowing that, Bella had caught Maldora Lestrange at a royal gala over a decade ago. Bella was one of the few witches who could say she had Obliviated the Queen's memory.

Knowing how much Solange had hated squalour, a poverty-stricken neighbourhood like this would be the last place Maldora would live. And yet Bella guessed, correctly as it turned out, that she would be here; because while a rookery, filled with murderers, pickpockets, and whorehouses, was exactly where the vile Maldora Lestrange belonged, it was precisely the last place anyone would think to look for her.

Except for Bella Figg, who'd known her far too long. Certainly Bella didn't understand Maldora's emotions, but she knew how her mind worked. Maldora had chosen the dirtiest, most dilapidated, crime-ridden slum in Muggle London as her hiding place. Bella marched through the ramshackle tenements, safely concealed under the Invisibility Cloak, and sought out the house number 9, which had always been Maldora's favourite number. She watched the house for an hour. Finally two cloaked figures emerged. One raised a wand and muttered a few words. Then they both Disapparated. Bella took her courage in hand and walked up to the house.

The Muggle burglars who might approach the house would suddenly think of a better place to rob and run off. That trick didn't work on Bella Figg, and neither did any of the magic barriers and booby-traps set up all round the house. She shattered each magic ward and skirted every snare till she reached the back door. Peering through the windows on either side of the door, she saw nothing but the scarce possessions of the impoverished Muggles who would normally live in that shack. But she could feel the magic exuding from the house, like the putridity a Dementor radiated.

She unlocked the door magically and gained entry. Inside everything was faded and dull, like what she had seen through the windows. Bella knew that Maldora would choose to hide in a rookery, in a slum, but she would never play by the rules of the rookery; no, she would lavish her humble hovel with luxuries, using magic to secretly decorate her home. It was a trick she had taught Solange herself, when the girl had been ten or eleven.

The house was empty. She raised her wand and cried, "Deliquescus!" The dull surroundings suddenly melted away to reveal an opulence rivaled only by a royal palace. Bella grinned.

In the corner was a white and gilt broom cupboard, but she knew the Feather-Light would not be in there. She hunted quietly through the house and found a library, full of mint-condition books. Then she saw it- Medicamenti Facile by Arabella Figg, the book she had written about curative potions. She took it down from the shelf, and it fell open to the page where a bookmark had been stuck- but the bookmark was shaped like a broomstick. Bella took out the bookmark and shook it out, and it expanded to full size. She had found the Nimbus Feather-Light.

A noise at the front door startled her. She shoved the book back on the shelf and ran to the back door. She had her hand on the doorknob when there was a gasp from behind her.

"No!" said Maldora Lestrange, drawing back her hood. "Not you!"

Bella turned and smiled sweetly. "Maldora. You're looking well."

"Maldora, who's there?" Derrick Lestrange came up behind his wife and spotted Bella. "How did you get in here?"

"What's more important is, how am I getting out," said Bella. "So long." She Disapparated with the Nimbus Feather-Light.

That weekend Gryffindor's Quidditch team beat Hufflepuff, 230-50. Ron Weasley scored 60 points.


	42. The Holiday Serenade

On December 1st Hogwarts woke to find itself completely buried under nearly a foot of snow. This was quite unexpected, as the night before, the grounds had been frozen and brown but fully visible. It was bitterly cold, but Harry liked everything about winter: fat wet snowflakes falling fast from cloud-laden skies; warm rich stews in the Great Hall; hot chocolate with Hagrid by a blazing fire in his cabin; and the dazzling white landscapes he woke up to in the mornings, so brilliant that it was like seeing the very sun's light trapped in a far-reaching sea. And he liked how tranquil the world seemed during winter, with snow and ice blanketing it all. The tall trees of the Dark Forest did not seem so sinister with sparkling icicles hanging from their branches.  
  
At dinner that evening, Albus Dumbledore rose to make an announcement.  
  
"Christmas is quickly approaching," he began, "and Hogwarts would like to arrange some festivities for Christmas Eve. The older students may recall that last year's Yule Ball was a great success. The Yule Ball, however, is traditionally an event of the Triwizard Tournament. Hogwarts has therefore decided to host its own Holiday Serenade ball, which we hope will become a tradition of its own."  
  
The Great Hall began buzzing with excitement.  
  
At the Gryffindor table Harry's left shoulder was suddenly grasped tightly.  
  
"Another ball?" Ron gasped. "He can't be serious!"  
  
Then Harry's right arm was seized in an iron grip.  
  
"I can't suffer through another ball!" Hermione wailed. "The Yule Ball was a total catastrophe!"  
  
"Ouch, you're hurting me!" Harry cried.  
  
"Sorry," said Ron and Hermione at the same time, and released Harry. Neither of the two ever realized the other had spoken.  
  
"This Christmas will be a marvellous celebration beyond even the legendary Great London Revelry of 1822," Dumbledore said, and received impressed murmurs because the Great London Revelry of 1822 was indeed recognized as the grandest Christmas festival in Europe's history, when over seventeen thousand wizards in western Europe had gathered in London on Christmas Eve and had a huge citywide festival, creating bedlam throughout the streets, drinking so much they nearly made the owner of the Leaky Cauldron a millionaire, and creating some forty tonnes of paperwork for the Ministry. The date of December 25th, 1822 was historically known in the British magical community as R-Day, the Day of Recovery, commemorating the magnificent hangovers of that date.  
  
"The ball will be only for students in fourth year and up," Dumbledore went on, and the buzzing turned disgruntled as the younger students tried to protest. He raised his hand. "Let me explain before you all start your objections. On Christmas Eve the first- to third-year students will enjoy a sumptuous Christmas tea in the afternoon here in the Great Hall. When they have finished, the hall will be redecorated for the ball in the evening. While the older students are at the ball, third-years and under will have a skating party out on the lake. Remember, if you are remaining at school over the holidays, attendance is mandatory at all of these events! After the Holiday Serenade the whole school will reunite on the terrace for a spectacular fireworks show, courtesy of Argus Filch."  
  
Filch was standing by the teachers' table, looking surly as usual. When Dumbledore turned to smile at him Filch made a grotesque rearrangement of his grim facial features in the way of a toothy grimace, which Harry supposed must be Filch's attempt at a smile.  
  
"It's age discrimination," Niamh Giffard said sullenly, sitting across from Harry during dinner.  
  
"You can't even dance!" Marcus McCabe said to her.  
  
"I would have learned, for a ball," Niamh said indignantly.  
  
"Think of all the lovely foods there'll be at this lavish tea Dumbledore's talking about," Darius Diggle said. "Chocolate eclairs, peach sherbets, vanilla custards."  
  
Niamh perked up. "And trifle?"  
  
"Of course," Darius said confidently, and Niamh looked satisfied.  
  
"Too bad Niamh can't go in my place," Hermione grumbled. "I absolutely do not want to go."  
  
"Not even with the right partner?" Niamh chided her. Harry grinned at Ron, who stared determinedly at his goblet of iced pumpkin juice and would not meet his eye.  
  
"Last year was a total fiasco," Hermione said to Niamh. "I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that the evening ended unpleasantly."  
  
"Do you have to wear dress robes?" Marcus said.  
  
Hermione brightened. "Yes, and that's the only part I liked. It was a lot of trouble getting dressed up, but for one evening we all looked so elegant, like guests at a fairy tale ball." She smiled dreamily, not at all like her regular brisk, no-nonsense self. "I wish you three could see it, it's such a formal affair and everyone looks absolutely lovely. But if it is an annual tradition, you'll get to see it for yourselves in four years."  
  
"It sounds exquisite," sighed Niamh. "Oh, four years is such a long time!"  
  
"Did you go, Harry?" Marcus asked. "Did you enjoy it?"  
  
"I went, but I agree with Hermione, it was a let-down," Harry said feelingly, recalling his dreary evening. "I don't want to go again."  
  
"Didn't you hear? Attendance is mandatory," Ron said glumly. "It's mad."  
  
"Mandatory?" Darius repeated. "At a ball and a skating party? Why would they say that?"  
  
"I told you, they're entirely mad," Ron said.  
  
"Maybe they're trying to keep us under control," said Hermione. "It must be easier to supervise us when we're in contained spaces."  
  
"Imagining conspiracies?" Niamh asked, grinning. "It's only a dance."  
  
"Stranger things have happened," Ron said cryptically.  
  
"And strange things may come of this," Niamh said, equally cryptic. 


	43. The Gypsy

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wish to say that I am so terribly sorry for what I have done with the chapter posting. This is the first long fic I've posted (though not the first I've written, right Steph?) and I screwed up the chapter numbering unbelievably, so again, I apologize. I've fixed it all now. I'm incredulous that anyone managed to make it this far, considering what a shambles I left the chapters in before. Sorry once more. - yamwam  
  
"How much longer in this agony?" wailed Seamus Finnigan, lolling across the table.  
  
"I can't stand it!" groaned Ron, clutching his throat. "I can't breathe in here!"  
  
Harry checked his wristwatch. "It's only been fifteen minutes." There was a collective groan, and Professor Trelawney looked up sharply. The boys hurriedly opened their textbooks and pretended to read a Tarot chart.  
  
The Gryffindors were in Divination class in the highest turret of the North Tower. Harry felt smothered under the thick purplish haze that hung about the room. The fire blazed as always in the fireplace at the back of the room, creating a stifling warmth in the small classroom with all the windows shut. Harry drew back the curtain a little and gazed sorrowfully through the frosted glass, at the pure crystalline whiteness that blanketed the lawns and the Forbidden Forest, the sparkling snowflakes that still drifted lazily over the wintry landscape. He wanted to be anywhere but here, trapped in this claustrophobia-provoking chamber, suffocating under purple fumes, pretending to care what the Empress card stood for.  
  
Then the curtain was snapped shut. Harry looked up, startled, at Professor Trelawney, who looked dreadfully severe.  
  
"You clearly are not possessed of the Inner Eye," she said sternly to Harry. "It is not my fault. I have tried to inspire you, but you are simply a non-believer."  
  
"What's your point?" Harry asked.  
  
Professor Trelawney frowned. "Why do you refuse to believe in the Inner Eye? The concept of an otherworldly force in a mundane society should not be so foreign to you, who witnessed so often the presence of magic within yourself while living in the Muggle world."  
  
Harry shrugged. "You're right, I don't believe in the Inner Eye, because I can't find it in myself." His uncommon belligerence stemmed from being cooped up in a stuffy tower on such a beautiful frosty day. "Are you satisfied? Do you want me to leave?"  
  
"No," said Professor Trelawney. "I want you to try harder. The gift of clairvoyance is weak in you, but it is there, and you must develop it." She sounded highly unlike her usual wispy self.  
  
"What's to stop me from walking out?" Harry challenged.  
  
Sybil Trelawney smiled smugly. "Now, this is where the Inner Eye becomes useful. The Fates foresee the anguish that you will cause poor Professor McGonagall if you drop Divination and fail to earn your O.W.L. for this course." She was triumphantly haughty. "You don't want to do that, do you? No? Then study those Tarot cards."  
  
Defeated, Harry opened his textbook. Professor Trelawney spoke to the whole class. "When will you realize that the Inner Eye is not something to be dreaded or escaped, but embraced? True, the chances are that one in five of you will never have the Inner Eye, but do not let that one be you! The Inner Eye will come if you have faith."  
  
At that moment the trapdoor flipped open and a head popped up. Niamh Giffard glanced quickly round the room and called down, "Marcus, this isn't the Charms classroom! I told you we were going the wrong-"  
  
But she didn't finish, because as soon as she emerged through the trapdoor the atmosphere in the room changed dramatically. The teacups on the shelves spontaneously smashed, and the misty orbs at the front of the room all filled lucidly with Niamh's face. The windows banged open and icy draughts swirled the purple smoke in the room. The flames in the fireplace blazed bright red. And in the midst of this chaos was Niamh, whose head, they could all see, was wreathed in light that shone blue in the haze.  
  
"My dear!" Professor Trelawney cried, toppling over onto a cushion, with her hand on her heart. "You have a blue aura! You are possessed of the Inner Eye!"  
  
"Oh bloody hell," said Niamh, letting herself fall off the ladder.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Harry and Ron were walking through the library later that week when they encountered Niamh and Darius, studying behind a fortress of books. As they approached, Darius said without looking up from his parchment, "No she won't read your palm, no she can't tell you the score of next weekend's Quidditch match, and no she isn't going to tell you what's on the bloody exams! Now sod bloody off!"  
  
"Do you kiss Niamh with that mouth?" Ron asked.  
  
Darius and Niamh looked up in surprise. "Oh, it's you," Darius said. "Sorry."  
  
"And the answer to your question is, he's never kissed me," Niamh said. "The coward."  
  
"Have people really been asking you to do those things?" Harry asked, pushing aside a pile of books to sit down at their table.  
  
"They've been pestering her all day," Darius said. "Even Marcus, who wants to know if he'll grow up to be a hero like Harry Potter. That's why we're hiding in here."  
  
"I wish people weren't so inquisitive," Niamh said miserably.  
  
"Nosy, you mean," Ron said. "What happened with Trelawney after she made us all leave?"  
  
Niamh shrugged. "She tried to pry me open. Asked me where I was from, what my genealogy was, and so on. I lied to her to make it look like a fluke. It took me ages to get away from her."  
  
"So you do have the Inner Eye?" Ron asked.  
  
Niamh grimaced. "Stop saying that! She kept saying it, over and over. Yes, I'm a gypsy, yes I'm psychic, now shut up about it, will you?" She put her face in her hands. "What a disaster. They'll expel me for sure."  
  
"What?" Harry said. "Why would they expel you?"  
  
"Professor Dumbledore had to fight the board of trustees to let me attend regular school here. I had to promise not to use my gifts to 'cause panic in the student body', or to cheat on tests and exams. As if I would fritter away my own life by cheating!" she scoffed. "I know the value of a Hogwarts education and I wasn't about to squander this opportunity like a common fool. And now everything's ruined. Everyone knows I'm a gypsy. The board of trustees will have me expelled for sure." And she wept into her hands, while Darius Diggle patted her back reassuringly and tried to say comforting things.  
  
But she wasn't expelled. Albus Dumbledore fought the board of trustees as he had fought them for so many students before. And, as he usually did, he won. To the great rage of a few influential individuals, especially the purist Lucius Malfoy, Niamh Giffard remained at Hogwarts, on the condition that she not reveal anything she knew to the students and staff, and that she never take the Divination course. The latter was her own stipulation. 


	44. The Impromptu Seance

It was mid-December now. The winter was extremely cold and had been unusually early, oddly exactly as Professor Trelawney had predicted. The icy winds of the frequent blizzards whistled through the turrets of the castle, and students dreaded Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, both of which required a trek through the chill air across the frozen lawns to the greenhouses or to Hagrid's cabin. Professor Sprout sighed as she bundled up warmly to walk out to the greenhouses in the mornings before classes, as other teachers grinned and were thankful that they did not have classes outdoors.  
  
The weather was so cold that for the first time in thirty years the lake froze over. Students were able to go ice-skating in their spare time, and Professor McGonagall proved to be quite nimble on skates, teaching the younger students how to spin and perform figure-eights. Harry worried about how the giant squid was getting along under the ice, until one evening the ice broke at one end of the lake and a pair of tentacles poked out of the water and waved lazily at the astonished passing skaters.  
  
Sunday afternoon all the Gryffindors were getting ready to go outside. George and Fred were eagerly detailing their plans to Harry to construct a skiing hill by the Quidditch stadium when Neville unfolded his scarf and a glass ball fell onto the carpet. It bounced and rolled, unbroken, to Harry's foot.  
  
"My Remembrall!" Neville said happily. "I was wondering where that had got to."  
  
Harry picked up the Remembrall to hand back, but was dismayed when the greyish mist inside suddenly turned deep crimson.  
  
"You've forgotten something," Parvati said. "Have you done all your homework for tomorrow's classes?"  
  
Harry thought he had. "I studied for the Potions test, I did the textbook questions for Transfiguration, I did that assignment on the Major Arcana for Divination."  
  
"The Herbology essay," said Ron and Neville at the same time.  
  
"Cripes!" Harry slapped his forehead with his palm. "You go ahead," he said mournfully to his friends. "I'll do the essay in no time at all."  
  
"Hurry up then," Ron said. "You'll come out later?"  
  
"When I'm done," Harry promised.  
  
The Gryffindors trooped out, leaving Harry alone in his misery with his textbooks and blank parchments. He settled down at a table by the window overlooking the lake and sadly commenced taking notes on Mediterranean seaweeds.  
  
Half an hour passed. Harry was writing the rough draft of his essay. He paused in the middle of a sentence, sighed, and propped his chin in his palm, staring through the window down at the skaters far below. A soft Irish voice disturbed his reverie.  
  
"Hi, Harry." Niamh Giffard stood by his table, holding a box of tissues. She smiled at him. "What's on your mind?"  
  
Harry smiled. "You tell me."  
  
Niamh looked at him uncertainly, but when he waited expectantly she shrugged and pulled up a chair. She sat, eyes closed, and spoke softly.  
  
"You're wondering how to spell 'hysteria'. You want to know why I'm in here and not outside. I have a small cold incidentally, I was about to go see Madam Pomfrey. You wonder, are the merpeople cold when the lake freezes over." Harry stared.  
  
"You wish you hadn't forgotten to do this essay because now you're missing out on all the fun. You're worried that Ron will say something foolish with you not there to watch him, and Hermione will be angry. You hate it when they fight. It makes you uncomfortable. You're pleased that they're going to the Holiday Serenade together, but you're concerned because you haven't found a date. But more important to you than the Holiday Serenade is your godfather. Sirius is lost, you're thinking, or maybe he's dead. Either way you're sure he's in trouble. You wonder, what would you do if he died? He's been almost like a father to you these past few years. Where could he be? Is he close, or far away? Is he hurt, is he dead?"  
  
"Stop!" Harry cried in alarm. Niamh opened her eyes, looking troubled.  
  
"I've upset you," she said. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you asked me to read your mind, and I can't stop it once I've started."  
  
Harry was still dazed from being hit by so many home truths at once. "It's- it's okay. Sorry, Niamh, I didn't mean to yell at you. It was just startling."  
  
Niamh looked dejected. "I know. That's why I almost wasn't allowed to come here. They normally don't let my kind into wizarding schools like Hogwarts because we gypsies allegedly cause undue distress to the 'normal' students."  
  
Harry peered down at the skaters and the Weasleys, who were standing in the snow, gesturing and talking agitatedly. "What are Fred and George doing?"  
  
"They're arguing over whose fault it was that they were holding their plans upside down, so that instead of raising the snow into a skiing hill they sunk a depression in the ground."  
  
Harry laughed. "Are you reading their minds as well?"  
  
Niamh shrugged. "I don't usually work to read other people's minds. I mean, I could, but I respect people's privacy. But usually things just sort of drift at me. Thoughts, feelings, memories."  
  
"Is that how Professor Trelawney is too?"  
  
"You're wondering because a few years ago she told you a prediction that came true?" Niamh asked, knowing without being told. "She's rather an exception. She actually wasn't born with the gift of what she calls the Inner Eye. But she believed that she was, and she worked so hard for it that sometimes, after a lot of work, she can figure out things in her head, which she thinks is having the Inner Eye. She picked a ridiculous medium, though. Divination, predicting the future! It's the least reliable medium of all."  
  
"Can't you predict the future?"  
  
"I have what I like to call heightened insight. I see deep into past and present times."  
  
"So you can't tell me what's in my future?" Harry asked.  
  
Niamh stared at him momentarily. "You make your own future," she said equivocally. "I don't usually talk about this. I'm an outcast of society, Harry. Even in the wizarding community I'm considered abnormal. A freak of nature."  
  
"That's what Malfoy says about me and my scar," Harry said. "You're no more unnatural than I am."  
  
Niamh laughed disparagingly. "Malfoy! That spoiled brat knows nothing." She stood and crossed to the window, where she looked down at the frozen lake, where Malfoy could be seen skating at the far end. "Malfoy is a fool and a liar, Harry. And look, Malfoy's desperately jealous."  
  
"Of what?" Harry stood to look out. "How can you tell?"  
  
She stared at him incredulously. "Are you telling me you've never known? Not once, in the time you've known Malfoy, has it occurred to you how envious he is of you?"  
  
"Of me?" Harry asked in surprise.  
  
"Not just you. All of you," Niamh said, trying to convey her point by gesturing round the empty common room. "He's exceedingly jealous of your simple friendships, your tight-knit groups, the way things seem to come so easily to you."  
  
"Nothing comes easily to any of us!" Harry said.  
  
"He thinks it does. Think about Malfoy, Harry. He's always lived in seclusion, detached from people. Do you think Malfoy Manor is a home of comfort and joy? I highly doubt it. His parents are cold and distant. Malfoy has to play games for what he wants. His life is a complicated tangle of lies and strategies. He envies your simple, straightforward honesty because he's spent his whole life dancing round the truth and he doesn't know how to be honest anymore."  
  
Harry watched the lone shape of his nemesis, lazilyskating slow figure eights, and knew that Niamh's observations were accurate. But the stubborn streak in Harry would not allow him to so easily forgive years of Malfoy's undaunted cruelty towards himself and his friends. "I'm not about to go out there and tell him I want to be bury the hatchet. Why are you telling me this?"  
  
Niamh sighed. "No one's asking you to be his best friend. I just want you to understand why he does such foolish things. But you yourself shouldn't have much trouble with him for a while."  
  
"Me? Why not?"  
  
"Watch," said Niamh, pointing down at the lake.  
  
Harry saw Ron showing Hermione how to skate figure-eights. They were laughing and appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely. Then Malfoy glided over. The Slytherin halted abruptly in front of them, showering Ron and Hermione in ice shavings. Ron shouted at Malfoy, who grinned and made a response that caused Ron to lunge forward, but Malfoy skated away, laughing, and Hermione held Ron back. The two of them began to argue.  
  
"They were getting along so well a minute ago," Harry said of Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Well, their happiness was what made Malfoy angry, wasn't it? What do you suppose Malfoy said that made Ron so mad, anyways? I didn't read it."  
  
"Probably something about Hermione being a Mudblood," Harry said as he watched Malfoy glide towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were struggling to stand on their skates by the open hole where a tentacle extended from the water. "I hope that lousy git falls in," he said angrily.  
  
"Hermione's parents are Muggles?" Niamh asked, interested. She sat back down. "Hmmm. How peculiar."  
  
"What's peculiar?" Harry asked sharply.  
  
Niamh read his thoughts. "It's not Hermione, I don't care that she's got Muggle parents. It's just odd that Malfoy taunts her about being a Mudblood."  
  
"He says purebloods are superior to Muggle-born wizards, the little bigot," Harry said sourly. "Apparently the entire Malfoy lineage is pureblood."  
  
"That's where you're wrong," Niamh said. "If anyone's a filthy beast it's him."  
  
Harry started. "Are you saying that Malfoy isn't-" In his excitement and shock he could hardly finish the sentence. Niamh grinned slyly.  
  
"Everyone has a dark secret, Harry, something appalling that they'd rather no one knew. Don't you?" Harry could not meet her gaze. Niamh went on. "I can usually read it in a handshake. But in Draco Malfoy's case I don't even need that. It's so patently obvious with him."  
  
"So he's a Mudblood?" Harry asked eagerly.  
  
Niamh smiled enigmatically. "Not exactly." She laughed out loud. "Malfoy! I could destroy that proud ancient name with a single word. But I won't."  
  
"But Niamh!" Harry exclaimed. "They deserve it!"  
  
"I can't abuse my gift, Harry! But in light of what you've suffered at his hand-a clue. I was going to tell you for Christmas, but you can have your gift early I suppose. The Malfoy family is not originally from England. They immigrated here several centuries ago from the continent." She paused. "From western continental Europe. After you hear that, it really won't be hard to-"  
  
All of a sudden Niamh went rigid. Her eyes and mouth snapped shut, mid- sentence.  
  
"Niamh?" Harry said, alarmed.  
  
Suddenly the girl began to hiss harshly: Parseltongue, a language known only to Parselmouths, of which two existed in the world. "Harry Potter," the girl hissed in a male voice unlike her own. It was high and cold and sent chills down Harry's back. It was cruel and unforgiving, and Harry knew whose voice it was. "Harry Potter! How I lament the day I first heard the name. He will be destroyed! I promised it to myself on that horrible night so long ago and it will be done. I am the vanquisher of foes, conqueror of the world! I will kill him and no one can stop me."  
  
There followed a sort of hissing, spitting noise, which Harry presumed was Parseltongue-laughter. He whispered, "Lord Voldemort-"  
  
"It is not necessary to go through the plan with them once more, I think," Niamh said thoughtfully, interrupting him. The gypsy seemed to be channeling Voldemort's inner monologue. "And perhaps it would not be wise to let them enter the school until that crackpot Dumbledore can be disposed of. Or. distracted! That gives me an idea. Suppose I could get him out of the place for a while. I could go in myself and snatch the boy! But how to remove Dumbledore?  
  
"I will have to use Snape somehow. But Snape is clearly in league with Dumbledore, though he pretends not to be. Is there no other way to get rid of Dumbledore? Though he is nothing more than an impetuous hothead far past his prime, I am still not strong enough to defeat him in combat. I shall have to use Snape to figure out Dumbledore's weaknesses, things he prizes above all. I wish I knew the long-nosed old fool better, then perhaps I could find it out myself, but Snape will have to do. I'll fix him so he can't lie to me about it. Maldora Lestrange can brew a potent Veritaserum, and we'll force the truth out of old impudent Snape.  
  
"And now, what to do about little Wormtail? His heart is not in his evil deeds lately. I fear not treachery, for I know that he will always obey his master, to whom he swore an undying allegiance. He is too weak to fight back, no matter how repulsive he thinks me.  
  
"I know what it is. Wormtail would like to see Harry Potter spared. He wants to pay back that life-debt he thinks he owes the boy. An absurd notion; but Wormtail believes in that primeval magic, and unless I can convince him it's rubbish, he might do something incredibly foolish to try and save Potter from me. Perhaps I could devise a spell to break the alleged bond between them, then Wormtail would serve me wholeheartedly. That problem can be dealt with easily, Wormtail is just a little weakling."  
  
But a little voice jumped in, Voldemort's intellectual self-antagonism. "Why do you speak so disparagingly of weakness? Even Lord Voldemort was weak once."  
  
Voldemort gasped angrily. "Preposterous!"  
  
"It's true!" hissed the little voice nastily. "Do you not remember that night, when Harry Potter-"  
  
"Stop!" shouted Voldemort. "No! I have never known weakness!" His voice rose shrilly in agitation. "I am all-powerful, I am invincible! I will be immortal! I will kill Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, and then the whole world will know my terrible wrath!"  
  
Niamh's body quivered, then slumped. Her head fell on her chest. Then she lifted her face and the clear bright eyes opened.  
  
"I'm sorry, I must have just been daydreaming for a second," she said in English in her regular voice, then stopped short at the sight of his stricken face. Suddenly realizing what had happened, she cried out in consternation, "What have I done? Harry, Harry, what did I say? I'm so sorry! Talk to me! What did I do? Harry!" 


	45. The Carrot

The upcoming Holiday Serenade threw Harry into a panic. It had taken him several weeks to pluck up the courage to ask anyone to the Yule Ball last year- how was he ever going to manage this year?

Ron suggested he ask Cho Chang again. "She's pretty and you fancied her."

"No good," Hermione said. "She's going home for the holidays."

"I didn't really want to humiliate myself again anyways," Harry said. "Once was enough."

A sixth-year had asked him the day before, and he had embarrassedly turned her down because she was incredibly tall, and he couldn't imagine trying to dance with her. A group of fourth-year Ravenclaw girls had been following him for a few days, giggling when he whirled round to look at them, but he doubted they would ever actually talk to him.

With only two weeks left before the ball, he and Ron roamed the school, looking for girls to ask to the ball. "Lisa Turpin?" Ron said, nodding in her direction.

Harry shook his head. "She's going with Seamus. But there's Susan Bones. I could ask her."

"You won't believe this, but she already asked Neville," Ron said. "Well, you could always ask Parvati again."

"She was furious with me for weeks after the Yule Ball," Harry said. "And why aren't you looking, Ron? Have you already invited someone?"

Ron reddened and mumbled, "Wasgnaskerminee."

"I beg your pardon?" Harry said, grinning.

Ron was beet red. "I was going to ask Hermione," he said icily. "Are you satisfied?"

"I'll be satisfied when she says yes," Harry said. "When are you going to ask her? There's only a couple weeks left. You better ask her before someone else does."

"I know," Ron said, glaring at him. "I'll ask her in my own time. At least I've picked someone."

"I can find a girl," Harry said, indignant. Privately he was quite worried. There were lots of pretty girls at Hogwarts, but he knew he was too shy to ask anyone.

Harry and Ron found Hermione doing homework in the library. "Ginny's not going with anyone," she immediately said to Harry. "Ask her."

Ron was appalled. "Ginny, my sister? And Harry? Please tell me you're joking."

Harry was embarrassed. "I can't ask Ginny." Ron's sister had had a crush on Harry since her first year at Hogwarts. But he was uncomfortable with the fact that she worshiped him for his reputation as some sort of superhuman idol.

"There's nothing wrong with her," Hermione said.

"There certainly is!" said Ron. "She's related to me!"

"You've got that right," muttered Hermione. Louder she said, "Fine, don't ask Ginny. Go alone and have a miserable time."

"Maybe I will," Harry said huffily. He stalked off into the Transfiguration section and glowered unseeingly at an empty bookshelf until a voice behind him said, "Hi, Harry."

He turned to find a very pretty girl named Sally-Anne Perks standing there. She had long golden hair that fell in tight curls around her pale face. Harry recognized her from Herbology class, which Gryffindor took with the fifth-year Hufflepuffs. "Er..." He wondered why she was talking to him. Sally-Anne was reputedly the most attractive girl in Hufflepuff house. She was of Muggle parentage, but she was a very clever witch. She was in some of Hermione's advanced classes and was one of the top ten students in their year. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas mentioned her with great awe, Harry remembered, but he had really never spoken to her before. "Hi, Sally-Anne."

Sally-Anne smiled at him. "Has any lucky girl snapped you up for the Holiday Serenade yet?"

Was she trying to set him up with one of her friends? "No," Harry said cautiously. "Why?"

"Well, do you want to go with me?"

"Oh," Harry said, relieved but greatly shocked. "Yeah, sure."

"Excellent," said Sally. "See you in Herbology tomorrow then."

Harry returned to Ron and Hermione, feeling rather bemused. "Sally-Anne Perks just asked me to the ball."

"Really?" Hermione said, startled. "You?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Harry said in annoyance.

"Why would Sally-Anne Perks ask you to the ball?" Ron said, just as Ginny Weasley rounded the corner behind Ron and Harry, a determined look on her face. Hearing Ron's words she immediately turned red and walked off quickly the way she had come. Hermione jumped up and ran after her.

"Where's Hermione going?" Harry said, turning to look, but Ginny and Hermione were already gone.

"Could I ask Hermione now, do you think?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Yeah! Here she comes now. Come up to the common room after she says yes."

"I couldn't catch Ginny," Hermione reported breathlessly as she returned to the table. "She was almost running down the hall. I think- I think she was going to ask you to the Holiday Serenade, Harry."

"Did she hear me talking about Sally?" Ron said. "Oops."

"I ought to go find her," Hermione said worriedly. "She looked upset."

"Then go on," Harry said before realizing he was missing his excuse to leave them alone. "No wait Hermione, I'll go."

"Would you?" said Hermione. "She won't ask you to the ball, but be nice to her, for once."

"I'm always nice," Harry said indignantly. When Hermione wasn't looking he grinned and winked at Ron, who flushed and made a quick obscene gesture at him.

The common room was full of studious Gryffindors, but Ginny wasn't there when Harry arrived. Guessing she was hiding in her dorm, he sat down with Seamus, Dean and Neville, who were working on Divination for a test the next day, and told them about Sally.

"Sally-Anne Perks asked YOU to the ball?" Dean said incredulously. "Unbelievable."

"Hey!" said Harry.

"Okay Harry, I think I've figured this out," Seamus said, comparing the setup on the table to the diagram in his textbook. "All right, the six of pentacles across the two of wands... and the Empress is over here, which means... Harry, you're... pregnant?"

"I'm what?"

"Your textbook is upside down, Seamus," Niamh Giffard called from across the room without looking away from the Exploding Snap card castle she and Marcus were building.

"Oh yeah," said Seamus, turning the book right-side up. "Now it means... you were born in midsummer."

"Right," Harry said, grinning.

Suddenly there came the sound of loud footfalls running down the hall outside the portrait hole, and there was a collision with the portrait.

"Watch where you're going!" cried the Fat Lady angrily. "Oh, it's you, dear... But what's the matter?"

"Let me in!" shrieked Hermione's voice, sounding distraught. "Legerdemain! Legerdemain!"

The portrait swung open and Hermione rushed in, her face pink and blotchy from her race through the school. She was holding her wand in one hand and, strangely, a blue carrot in the other.

"Hermione?" Harry said into the stunned silence.

She saw him and let out a cry of anguish. "Harry!" She rushed at him and burst into tears on his shoulder.

"Hermione, what happened?" Harry asked, bewildered, as the other Gryffindors all gathered round in amazement.

Hermione hiccoughed, "Library- Ron- he-"

"Where is Ron?"

Silently Hermione held out the blue carrot. Seeing Harry's shock, she let loose a fresh flood of tears.

"Did you do it?" Dean asked.

"No! Malfoy!" Hermione wailed. "He was eavesdropping- he attacked Ron- turned him into a carrot- and I tried to fix Ron but I only turned him blue!"

"Did Malfoy get away?"

Hermione shook her head. "I Transfigured him into a football and kicked him out the window," she said in a small voice.

In the gales of laughter that ensued, Harry ran up to the boys' dormitory with the carrot.

He put Ron on his desk and said jokingly, "Stay here." Then he ran to his trunk and started pulling out Potions ingredients and textbooks. He stood over the carrot with his wand. "Finito Incantato."

The carrot sprouted little blue arms and legs and stood on the desk with its hands on its hips, or as near as the hips would be on a nine-inch-tall carrot.

"I hate to say it, but Malfoy's gotten good at hexing," Harry said, peering closely at Ron. "The workmanship on the carrot is so detailed, and he even managed to fit in an anti-reversal proviso to prevent 'Finite Incantatem' from fixing you. Do you want me to try to brew a cure-all antidote?"

The carrot, predictably, said nothing.

"Like the name says, it cures all," Harry said as he assembled his Potions equipment. "I should tell you I've only made one successful cure-all potion before, and now I'm really just improvising. It won't take too long, I hope."

Ron remained mute, but a little crease about the level of his eyebrows scrunched up.

Darius Diggle suddenly burst through the door. "Harry! Harry! Oh, you're working on fixing Ron. I was in the library, I saw the whole thing. Shall I tell you?"

"Yeah, tell me," Harry said, lighting a fire under his cauldron.

"It started when Ron asked Hermione to the Holiday Serenade. Sorry, Ron," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But the acoustics in the library are good and it just sort of drifted over." The carrot voiced no objections to Darius' apology, and Darius continued, "So Ron asked Hermione if she wanted to go with him, and she said yes."

"Excellent!" said Harry as he chopped up ginger roots.

"That's what I thought too, and I was about to get up to go congratulate Ron when Draco Malfoy sidled round a high pile of books with that awful smirk. You know the one he gets sometimes when he's about to be really nasty to someone? He had obviously been eavesdropping on purpose. He said to Ron, didn't he have better taste than to go slumming round with Muggle-borns. Well- he used a different word than Muggle-borns, but I really don't want to say it."

"I know what word it was," Harry said, gritting his teeth.

"And Ron said Malfoy'd better take back his remark, and Malfoy said that even a Weasley could do better than Hermione, so Ron said something to the effect that Malfoy could engage in rectal penetration, and Malfoy used a few expletives to eternally condemn Ron to the seventh circle of Hell, and Ron suggested that Malfoy's paternal descent was doubtful due to his mother's... promiscuity. So Malfoy hexed him."

"Why a carrot?"

"Well, he had just called Ron Carrot-Top. I suppose that was still on his mind."

"And what was Hermione doing during all of this?" Harry asked, stirring the cure-all, which was sickly green in colour.

"She was quite horrified, paralysed with rage I think. But even if she'd wanted to, there really was no way to stop them once they had started. At least she got back at Malfoy for Transfiguring Ron. Did you hear about that? She turned him into a football! And what a leg on that witch! She could play for Manchester United, that ball went flying nearly all the way to the Forbidden Forest. It'll take the Slytherins all night hunting in the snow to find Malfoy."

The carrot wriggled, apparently in amusement.

"She could really get in trouble for this though," Darius said worriedly. "She's a prefect and she's fighting with other students. If Snape hears about this, she could lose her badge."

Harry paused in dropping handfuls of knotgrass into the cure-all, which turned deep purple. "I didn't think of that," he said in dismay. "At the very least she'll get about fifty detentions with Snape."

Ron squirmed on the desk. Harry read his thoughts.

"Unless someone owns up to it first?" he guessed. The blue carrot fidgeted. "Ron, they'll never believe you managed a perfect human-football Transfiguration."

The carrot shook his fist at Harry. "You can do the spell for him then, Harry," said Darius. "Is that potion ready yet? Hurry up with it!"

"It's not easy, you know!" Harry protested. "There's nothing in the textbook about turning carrots into people, or vice versa. I'm making this up as I go." He flipped to the Hair-Raising Potion, muttering to himself, "This will make the hair grow back, I think... I'd better put in extra rat tails... Darius, if Ron's going to take the blame for Hermione, you had better go distract her so that she doesn't go confess first. Who else saw her transfigure Malfoy?"

"Only me and the carrot," Darius said. "Don't worry, I can stall her. I'll steal her wand and run."

Twenty minutes after Darius left, Harry completed his viscous purple potion and dipped the carrot in, leaves and all, and set him on the desktop. The carrot began to grow, and the skin paled to a freckled pink tinged with blue, and in a few moments Ron, full-sized and human shaped, was sitting on the tabletop, rubbing his eyes.

"It worked!" Harry said, amazed and rather proud.

"It stings my eyes," complained Ron.

"That might go away in a while. But listen Ron, if you're going to take the blame for Hermione you'll need evidence. Give me your wand," Harry said, spotting Neville's toad, Trevor, sitting on Dean's bed. Ron handed over his wand. Harry flipped through a Transfiguration textbook till he found human-to-sports-equipment spells. "Conglobo!" he said, pointing Ron's wand at Trevor, who ballooned into a football and rolled off Dean's pillow onto the floor.

"That was the spell Hermione did," Ron said, taking his wand. "I get it. Now it's in my wand and I can show McGonagall with a Prior Incantato. Thanks, Harry."

"So she said yes?" Harry asked, smiling.

"Yeah," Ron said casually, before his face split into a grin. "I'm going to the ball with Hermione!"

Darius Diggle burst into the room, panting and clutching a wand in his hand. "Got it," he wheezed at Ron. "Go on and confess to McGonagall."

"Go, Ron," Harry said, "or Hermione will get to McGonagall before you."

Ron ran out to find Professor McGonagall. When he came back to Gryffindor Tower several hours later, he was fifty house points poorer and many detentions richer. But the best thing was that he had been found guilty.

Malfoy, it turned out, had not been found by his fellow Slytherins for over an hour, and had suffered minor frostbite-related pains. Ron had gotten to Professor McGonagall first and confessed to the crime, and the evidence of the Reverse Spell Effect had cinched his culpability. Professor McGonagall was more stunned by the fact that Ron Weasley claimed to know how to do sixth-year-level Transfiguration tricks than by his altercation with Malfoy. When Malfoy was located and restored to human form, he told Snape and McGonagall that Hermione Granger had hexed him, but Professor McGonagall earnestly defended her prefect, and since the much likelier suspect had already confessed, Hermione was only called upon for testimony as a formality. When she discovered what Ron had done for her, she was deeply touched, and corroborated his declaration of guilt.

Malfoy, it was finally presumed, must have suffered head trauma in his flight from the library window, and Ron was the real culprit. Snape was still highly doubtful of this story, but Minerva McGonagall was immovable in her decision; and Snape settled for penalizing Ron Weasley for the crime, which he did in a grand style, awarding Ron twenty-five detentions, to be served with the Potions master himself. Professor McGonagall, still surprised by the quality of the Transfiguration hex Ron had allegedly thrown at Malfoy, only took fifty points from Gryffindor, concluding that a rush of adrenaline and rage must have sharpened his wits and his Transfiguration skills.

The incident made Ron into a hero among the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor houses, all of whom were happy to see a Slytherin be humiliated. Malfoy, however, chose to ignore the giggles and rumours, opting instead to put an extra swagger in his walk as he boasted that he would one day get back at Hermione- for Malfoy remembered exactly who had hexed him, and was not to be fooled by false confessions.

In the days afterwards Harry worried about what Malfoy might do to Hermione or Ron in revenge. One day while in the library, watching Malfoy practising a Drought Charm with a glass of water, Harry recalled Niamh's Christmas gift. What had she said? "The Malfoy family is not originally from England. They immigrated here several centuries ago from the continent. From western continental Europe."

What did that mean? Harry abandoned his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework and sought out the History of Magic section.

"Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century... Deviant From the Norm: The Autobiography of Uric the Oddball... Sites of Historical Sorcery... Aha! Ancient Wizarding Names."

He pulled the musty tome off the shelf. It was fragile and covered in dust, and did not appear to have been consulted by anyone in many, many years.

Harry flipped to the M's. He quickly found "Malfoy" and began reading. The Malfoy lineage certainly appeared to be as pureblood as Draco Malfoy claimed; but, Harry noticed, the records of that family only went back as far as 1375, when Dragomir Malfoy had moved into present-day Malfoy Manor, in northern Scotland.

A scratchy drawing of Dragomir accompanied the man's incomplete biography. He was a stocky, scowling man, swarthy in complexion and attitude. Harry conjured a magnifying glass and squinted at the words printed in the corner of the sketch. "F. Bracov, Sighisoara- 1373," he read. He Summoned an atlas from a shelf and located Sighisoara in the gazetteer.

"Sighisoara, Romania, page 164, M21." He turned to page 164 and stared at box M21. There was Sighisoara, in northwestern Romania. But a letter "T" partly obscured the town's name. The "T", Harry then realized, belonged to the word "Transylvania".

He sat back. Was that the solution, that Malfoy's family was from Transylvania? Maybe he had missed something. He turned back to the Ancient Wizarding Names and stared at Draco's family tree. "Dragomir Malfoy m. Ileana Tepes."

The Tepes family appeared in the book as well. Ileana Tepes was also of Sighisoara. And the Tepes family name, the book said, was famous because of a certain novel written by Bram Stoker called Dracula. It was about a Transylvanian nobleman, Count Dracula, who was a vampire, but was based on one Vlad Tepes or Vlad Dracul. The novel Dracula was widely accepted as fiction, but, the book hinted, it may actually have been true to reality.

And then Harry understood the connection. He ran to the Magical Creatures shelves and grabbed Bestiary of Part-Human Magical Creatures, and riffled through the pages. There was only one entry under the letter he was looking for. "V for Vampire," he whispered to himself.

'Generally hated and feared, vampires are known as evil blood-sucking monsters. They are, however, part human, and are treated with respect by the governments who regulate their population. Vampires are found worldwide, for their species spread across the globe as wizards and Muggles alike were bitten and "contaminated" with the vampire's curse, which they then transferred to other humans during feeding. Vampires originated in Transylvania, a northwestern Romanian region,' and that was where Harry stopped reading because he had already figured out the answers.

Dragomir Malfoy had accidentally married a vampire and passed on part-vampire genes through his line to his descendant Draco, which at least accounted for Draco's social inelegance and his pale, gaunt appearance.

Harry leaned back in his chair. So the Malfoys had a vampire in their family. He smiled and began to think about how this information could be used to the greatest advantage.


	46. The Ball

Christmas Eve arrived at last. During the day most of the students frolicked outside in the snow. Harry and the other Gryffindor fifth-years had a snowball fight with the Ravenclaw fifth-years. There was no winner though, because the twenty-five-foot-high snowman being constructed by the Gryffindor seventh-years collapsed and everyone scattered to avoid being engulfed in the subsequent avalanche.  
  
In the afternoon the first-, second- and third-years congregated in the Great Hall for their Christmas feast. The older students spent this time preparing for the Holiday Serenade. In Harry's dorm the boys' trepidation was palpable as they fought over mirror space.  
  
"Out of the way, Thomas," Ron grunted to Dean.  
  
"You're blocking my face!" complained Neville, trying to comb his hair. "Susan Bones will be furious if my hair looks like this."  
  
"How are my teeth?" Seamus asked, elbowing Dean.  
  
"It's fine," Dean said. "But if I were you I'd be more concerned about the spot on your nose."  
  
"What! Of all the bloody times-" Seamus bodily shoved everyone to the floor and peered in the small mirror. "Not now, less than an hour before the Holiday Serenade! It's huge! I'm not going. Lisa Turpin can escort herself."  
  
"Oh, shut up," snapped Harry. He was frustrated by the state of his hair. Dean had lent him a jar of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion for Wizards to tame his wild black hair; but the Sleekeasy's had only succeeded in plastering his hair flat to his head like a jet-black helmet. When spells had failed to rectify the crisis, it had taken forty minutes of frantic scrubbing to remove the goo from his hair. Now it looked exactly like it did every day, untidy, unkempt and sticking up everywhere, and it had made Harry surly.  
  
"There may be no magic that can untangle my hair, but there's a simple solution to your idiotic tribulations," grumbled Harry, grabbing his wand. He enchanted the comb, which began neatly combing Neville's hair; he tossed Seamus a vial of diluted Bubotubor pus, which dissolved his spot in a matter of minutes; and lastly he Engorged the little mirror to take up half the wall so they could all share it. "There. Now stop whining."  
  
At six the younger students returned from their banquet sated and happy. Harry was alone in the common room when they entered. Most of them went to their dorms to get dressed to go outside, but Niamh Giffard paused by the fireplace where Harry sat, watching the crackling flames. He looked up and invited her to sit, but she declined.  
  
"I only wanted to say- will you promise me you'll watch out for Ron and Malfoy? To avoid any. unpleasantness?"  
  
Harry nodded. He was ready to obey any of her advice, the memory of her terrifying spontaneous séance still fresh in his mind. "I would have done that anyways."  
  
"Just promise," Niamh said brusquely, and smiled tensely. "Have a good evening." She hurried off to her dorm, leaving Harry puzzled.  
  
A few students, resplendent in their finery, came down to the common room to wait for the appropriate departure time that would allow them to be fashionably but not boorishly late. Neville, Seamus, Dean and Ron descended the stairs. Ron wore a vague half-grin, in contrast to the anxiety written on the faces of the other three.  
  
"She'll be down soon," he said dreamily to Harry.  
  
"Here comes Lavender," Neville said to Dean.  
  
Lavender was quite a sight, decked out in low-cut dress robes of an incarnadine red.  
  
"Blood red?" Ron asked.  
  
Lavender rolled her eyes. "It's coquelicot red, you unrefined oaf." She paused to look him over critically. "Although I must say you're looking quite well tonight, lout that you are. Hermione will be down in a moment, she's just doing her hair." Lavender took Dean's arm and swept out through the portrait hole.  
  
Parvati Patil, stunning in fuschia dress robes, came down soon afterwards and like Lavender, appraised the boys and told Ron Hermione would be out soon. Neville and Seamus accompanied her out of the common room.  
  
"Aren't you going downstairs to meet Sally-Anne?" Ron asked Harry.  
  
"I'll wait a minute," Harry replied. "I want to see your face when Hermione comes down the stairs."  
  
Ron opened his mouth to respond but his eyes travelled past Harry and his mouth stayed hanging open.  
  
Harry turned and followed his gaze to Hermione, standing at the top of the staircase, an earthbound celestial deity. Her robes, alluringly close- fitting, were dark blue, almost black, and made of a soft material that shimmered when she moved. Jewels sparkled in the curtain of hair that hung straight and shiny down her back. She was radiant.  
  
Hermione came lightly down the stairs. "Close your mouth, Ron, you'll catch flies," she said delightedly.  
  
Ron snapped his mouth shut and beamed at Hermione. "You- er, you look." He shook his head mutely. He produced a single red rose from behind his back and, to Harry's surprise, drew his wand and stammered, "Floreo moreo!" The rose exploded into a bright bouquet of flowers, which Ron presented to Hermione. While she blushed the colour of Lavender's dress robes, Harry grinned and slipped out the portrait hole alone.  
  
The Entrance Hall was full of students, the younger ones getting ready to go outside for a skating party, and goggling at the frippery of the older ball-bound students who milled about, waiting for their partners. Harry spotted Sally-Anne Perks immediately, easily the prettiest girl in the room. Sally was a vision in tangerine lace, her dress robes being made of some puffy material that gave her the appearance of being surrounded by a misty orange cloud. Harry grinned as he descended the stairs.  
  
"Hi Sally," he said as she came to greet him. "You look. very." Harry paused, searching for words.  
  
"Ravishing?" Sally suggested. Harry nodded. "Then don't just stand and gawp, Harry, let's go inside!"  
  
And in a manner befitting their elegant attire and elegant comportment they swept into the Great Hall- and halted immediately, jaws scraping the flagstones.  
  
The Great Hall was magnificently opulent. The four house tables had been cleared away to make an extensive dance floor, presently swarming with bodies. Giant firs towered over their heads, decked out in tinsel garlands, delicate glittering ornaments, and fairy lights of real fairies, who flitted about in the branches, tittering, and occasionally fluttering out among the white, red, and green candles hovering high over the dance floor.  
  
At the side of the hall there was one long table, on which stood a massive crystal bowl of punch, rows of bottles of Butterbeer, and platters of hors d'oeuvres, like fruit, cheeses and olives. But some of the olives were eyeballs, and one cheese, oddly, was named Monster instead of Muenster.  
  
The Great Hall was filled with laughter, chatter, and chamber music. Harry looked up and saw, under the floating candles, a 100-piece orchestra of player-less instruments, being conducted by Albus Dumbledore. He stood on a floating platform in dress robes of rich green and gold, merrily gesticulating with his wand as a conductor's baton. He waved his baton when he saw Harry enter and the self-playing violins thought he wanted them to speed up and began playing double-time. Dumbledore ignored them and floated the platform down to the floor to greet Harry. "Good evening, Harry, Sally-Anne!"  
  
"Happy Christmas, Professor," said Sally, smiling.  
  
"And happy Christmas to you both as well! Miss Perks, you look absolutely lovely, if I may say so." Sally beamed. "And Harry, I wanted to thank you for your gift." Dumbledore lifted the hem of his gold and green robes to show them the thick red woollen socks that Harry had asked Dobby the house- elf to knit for him to give to the Headmaster. "It was very thoughtful of you to remember."  
  
"You're welcome, Professor," Harry said, grinning, glad that he had remembered that Dumbledore had wished he'd gotten socks instead of books for Christmas.  
  
"Could you strike up a waltz, Professor?" Sally asked.  
  
"Certainly, Miss Perks," said Dumbledore, raising his wand and calling up to the orchestra, "Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers!" His platform floated away as the first notes sounded from the strings section.  
  
Sally smiled expectantly at Harry, who, reproaching himself for being inattentive, nervously asked if she would like to dance. "Of course," said Sally, and she pulled him into the crowd of dancers.  
  
They danced two waltzes, a salsa, and a foxtrot. "You're not bad," Sally said to Harry while teaching him the foxtrot.  
  
"How do you know so many dances?" Harry asked her.  
  
Sally giggled. "My Muggle parents wanted me to be a lady, so I had to take lessons in etiquette, elocution and dancing. Of course, now that I'm here at Hogwarts and planning to have a career in the wizarding world, their dreams of my marrying a rich nobleman have been shattered." She smiled at him. "I'm getting rather tired, shall we get a drink?"  
  
Harry agreed, and they left the dance floor. Sally was not tired at all, but she was loath to tell Harry that she was actually uneasy because Ginny Weasley kept shooting her venomous scowls.  
  
Harry was picking up two bottles of Butterbeer when Sally said, "There's Professor Figg! She looks very smart tonight." Arabella Figg was elegantly draped in dress robes of dark green velours, her hair pinned as usual in a tight chignon, but tonight with red and green ribbons wound round it. She held a delicate wineglass of clear crimson liquid. "Happy Christmas, Professor Figg," Sally said to her.  
  
Professor Figg looked round in surprise. "Oh, good evening. Happy Christmas."  
  
"Don't like the fruit punch, Professor?" Harry asked, looking at her wine glass.  
  
She noticed him for the first time. "Harry! Hello. Ah, well, the punch is fine for you students, but I prefer something a little. stronger."  
  
"What year is that, Professor?" asked Sally, adding, "I know a little about wines, since my aunt owns a vinyard in Provence."  
  
"Yes, er- well- it's an Ontario wine. From Canada. You wouldn't recognize it." She quickly drained what was left in her glass.  
  
Rubeus Hagrid suddenly materialized and clapped a massive hand on Harry's shoulder, nearly causing him to fall to his knees. Hagrid was dressed in his regular clothes, but they had been dyed green and red. "Harry! Enjoying yerself? Sally-Anne Perks, yeh look lovely! Ah, Professor Figg, can I freshen your drink?" The giant pulled a flask out of his pocket and poured more wine into Professor Figg's glass.  
  
"Thank you Hagrid," said Professor Figg. To Harry's great shock, she downed the wine in one gulp. "I think I shall ask Professor Snape to dance," she said, handing her glass to Hagrid, and went off to do so.  
  
"She doesn't seem drunk, but trying to get Snape to dance certainly sounds like something a smashed person would do," Harry said to Sally.  
  
"He won't dance," said Sally. "See, he's telling her no."  
  
Professor Figg was laughing and pulling Severus Snape's arm, but he was shaking his head sourly and refused to move. Professor Figg at last capitulated to Snape and stood with him, and Professor McGonagall, attired in unembellished black dress robes, joined them. Snape frowned at something Professor Figg said and all three glanced momentarily at Harry.  
  
Sally-Anne noticed Harry's discomfiture and suggested she teach him the mazurka. They returned to the dance floor, passing Seamus and his partner Lisa Turpin, Dean and Lavender, and Neville and Susan Bones. Fred Weasley was dancing with Alicia Spinnet, and George and Katie Bell were sitting at a table. Draco Malfoy was dancing stiffly with pug-faced Pansy Parkinson, and nearby were Ron and Hermione. Ron seemed preoccupied with trying to dance and not crush Hermione's toes, but he threw Harry a blissful smile over Hermione's shoulder.  
  
Sally took Harry's hand. "Like this, one two three- oh!"  
  
Harry had bumped into someone and been knocked forward into Sally. He spun angrily and came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Potter," hissed Malfoy. "Can't you keep your clumsy gangling self out of people's way?"  
  
"Watch where you're going," Pansy Parkinson sneered. The bright blue of her dress robes was garish and unbecoming on her plump body.  
  
"YOU bumped ME," responded Harry. He and Malfoy glowered at each other.  
  
"Come on, Harry," said Sally. Malfoy's pale eyes travelled over Sally- Anne Perks, taking in the pretty face and lithe figure, and his eyebrows shot up.  
  
"Sally-Anne Perks?" he said incredulously. "You're Potter's date?"  
  
"Of course," Sally said, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder.  
  
"I'd have thought you would know better than to associate with him," Pansy hissed at Sally, taking Malfoy's arm. "Don't you remember what he did last year? Cedric Diggory was in Hufflepuff with you. Are your loyalties shifting, Sally?"  
  
Harry's cheeks burned. Sally-Anne was speechless for a moment. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Why Pansy darling, wherever did you get those dress robes? The bargain bin at Madam Malkin's?"  
  
"This is a Paris original," snapped Pansy, furious. "It cost me an arm and a leg!"  
  
"For the amount of flesh on those limbs, they should have given you a more fetching ensemble," Sally said sweetly. "Come on, Harry." Laughing, they hurried away from Pansy, whose pug-like face was flaming.  
  
Malfoy, fuming, stood staring after Harry. Then his gaze alit on Ron and Hermione, who were dancing close together, and his frown deepened. He would get his revenge.  
  
The hours passed and the slow waltzes changed into fast rock songs, sung by a band of suits of armour called Heavy Metal; and then wound back down to soft ballads and peaceful orchestral music. Harry avoided Malfoy like Niamh Giffard had advised. He completely forgot that it was Ron and Malfoy he was supposed to watch. He and Sally stayed at the opposite end of the room from Malfoy. During a slow song they were dancing close, Sally's head on Harry's shoulder.  
  
"What a marvellous evening," she said, her breath tickling his ear. Harry felt slightly anxious.  
  
"Great ball," he agreed, trying to keep his voice from squeaking.  
  
"It would be nice if we could be alone," Sally whispered. "Somewhere quiet and secluded, where we could-"  
  
"Harry!" Neville Longbottom was at his elbow.  
  
"What is it, Neville?" Harry asked, annoyed at being interrupted before Sally could finish her sentence.  
  
Neville's agitation hindered his speech. "It's just- Malfoy is- Ron and Hermione-"  
  
Harry looked about wildly, and spotted Ron and Hermione by the punch table, and Draco Malfoy sidling up slyly, a sly look in his eyes.  
  
"Oh no-" Harry dropped his arms from Sally-Anne's waist and began to push through the dancers, but he knew he was too late. Malfoy had already reached Ron and Hermione, and he spoke snidely to Ron. Hermione spoke before Ron could respond and turned to leave, but Malfoy let his gaze lazily glide the length of Hermione's figure and, smirking, made a remark that completely blanched Hermione's face. Ron lunged at Malfoy and knocked him to the floor.  
  
"No Ron!" Harry and Hermione shouted at once.  
  
Ron and Malfoy struggled on the floor, fists and feet flailing, both grunting and cursing. People stopped dancing and crowded round to watch. Over their heads, Harry glimpsed Professor Figg, standing frozen and stunned. Hermione looked on, furious. Harry pushed past the shocked Dean and Lavender and reached the brawlers, but Ron and Malfoy were out for blood and could not be separated.  
  
Except- the orchestra music fizzled as Dumbledore used his wand-baton to blast the boys apart with a Reductor Curse. As they sat, stunned, the punch bowl took flight and hovered in the air above their heads.  
  
"Don't move, or the bowl will tip," said Dumbledore, floating down to the floor on his platform. His tone was warning, but the blue eyes twinkled in wry amusement.  
  
Professor McGonagall pushed through the throng of students, who all shrank away because she was clearly far from amused.  
  
"WHAT is the meaning of this?" she shrieked, face flushed. "WHAT do you think you are DOING, fighting at a school FUNCTION?"  
  
"He started it," gasped both boys at once.  
  
Hermione suddenly burst out, "Ron Weasley, I never want to speak to you again!" She stalked out of the Great Hall, the crowd of students parting before her wrathful expression.  
  
"Hermione, wait!" cried Ron, jumping up; and as Dumbledore had promised, the bowl upended, drenching Ron and Malfoy in punch. In the roar of laughter that followed, Harry ran out after Hermione.  
  
The Entrance Hall was empty save a few younger students who'd come in for a cup of hot chocolate before returning to skating on the lake. Marcus McCabe and Darius Diggle accosted Harry outside the door of the Great Hall, faces pink from the cold, their skates slung over their shoulders.  
  
"Harry, you look great!" bubbled Marcus. "Where can I get dress robes like that, Harry?"  
  
Harry suddenly realized what had been wrong with Professor Figg at the ball. She had called him Harry, when as a rule she addressed all students by their last names.  
  
"Hermione's in there," Darius said to Harry, nodding to an antechamber. He regarded Harry suspiciously. "She looked upset."  
  
"She was crying," Marcus added helpfully, before Darius dragged him away.  
  
Harry knocked on the closed door. "Hermione?"  
  
"Go away," came the reply. "Especially if you're Ron."  
  
"It's Harry. Can I come in?" He tried the doorknob. Locked. "Alohomora!" He entered cautiously.  
  
A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace by which Hermione sat huddled in a chair. Her face was buried in a silk handkerchief embroidered with her initials, a Christmas gift from her mother. Harry sat in a chair opposite her and waited.  
  
Finally she lifted her head and stared into the dancing flames, avoiding his eyes. "Tonight was going to change everything. I thought- I mean, the flowers, and the look on his face." She shook her head, as if to clear it. "But he couldn't change for just one night."  
  
"Ron, you mean? But he just risked suspension for you!"  
  
"He just humiliated me, you mean," Hermione said angrily. "Fighting in front of everyone like a common rogue!"  
  
"He was defending you!" Harry protested.  
  
Hermione finally turned to look at him, glowering. "Oh, fine, side with him again! You always take his side! You're always against me!"  
  
"Hermione-" Harry began pacifyingly. A soft knock on the door interrupted him.  
  
"The fireworks are starting," Darius Diggle said through the door. Harry could hear all the students filing through the Entrance Hall to watch Filch's fireworks show from the front steps.  
  
"Let's go watch," he suggested. Initially demurring, Hermione finally allowed herself to be led out. The Entrance Hall was empty when they walked through. The whole student body was thronged outside, watching awed as starbursts and spirals of brilliant reds and greens exploded overhead. Sally-Anne Perks waved from a group of her friends and grinned sympathetically, so Harry knew she understood he had to stay with Hermione. They stood on the fringe of the assembly. The dazzling exhibition quickly dissolved Hermione's ire, and soon she was as entranced as everyone else.  
  
As he stared skyward, Harry felt a tug on his arm. He lowered his gaze and found Niamh Giffard there, her expression reproachful.  
  
"I told you to watch Ron and Malfoy!" she chided. Harry mumbled contritely and she sighed and said, "Well, what's done is done."  
  
"I'd like to have hit him myself," Harry growled, glaring at Malfoy. Professor McGonagall had both Malfoy and Ron, wearing dry clothes, in her grip, and was lecturing them while irate Snape stood near, interjecting irritated remarks here and there. Reddish bruises were showing on the faces of both boys already. "That louse must have spent all day dreaming up something really awful to say."  
  
"Or," said Niamh, dropping her voice urgently, "maybe he didn't think of it himself. Listen carefully, Harry, because you'll go inside in a moment. Don't you think he might have been put up to it?"  
  
Harry was surprised, but he considered. "Maybe. It wouldn't take a lot of work to persuade Draco Malfoy to insult Hermione and Ron. But who would want him to do that?"  
  
"Someone who wants the same thing Malfoy does: to see Ron and Hermione apart."  
  
"But who-" said Harry, then cottoned on. "Ron's Secret Admirer?"  
  
"Exactly," said Niamh. "So if she asked him t-"  
  
She fell silent at the sight of Ron Weasley. He approached Hermione tentatively. "Hermione, please-"  
  
But she turned abruptly away. "Harry, let's go inside. I'm trying to avoid association with total cads." Ron's mouth fell open. Harry turned to Niamh, but she had already returned to Darius and Marcus. After an apologetic look at Ron, Harry went inside with Hermione.  
  
They headed for the antechamber again, but Harry stopped at the sound of voices from within. This was odd in itself, since it seemed like everyone was outside watching the fireworks; but what Harry found bizarre was that there seemed to be only one voice talking to itself. The door was ajar. Harry and Hermione stood on either side and listened.  
  
"How was the ball?" asked a voice Harry recognized as Professor Figg's.  
  
"Oh, it was perfectly lovely," answered Professor Figg's own voice. "Filius Flitwick did a bang-up job of decorating the Great Hall, it looked fabulous, Bella."  
  
"Was it? Sad I couldn't be there myself. But there will be other balls, I suppose, next year and so on. The potion I brewed was all right?"  
  
"Yes. I don't think anyone noticed anything different. Some students were a bit curious, but it looked so very much like wine because you brewed it so expertly. And I don't suppose they've had much experience with Polyjuice Potions, have they?" Harry and Hermione stared at each other.  
  
"Did anything interesting happen?"  
  
"Yes, actually, there was a bit of a fight towards the end. A couple of boys fighting over a girl or something. Absolutely loutish behaviour. Dumbledore seemed rather amused, but Minerva and Severus were furious." Harry watched Hermione fidgeting.  
  
"Did you catch their names?"  
  
"No. One looked like that red-haired fellow from International Cooperation, Percy Weasley? And the other was a pale sort of boy, resembled that madman Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy? In a fight? Minerva will expel them both! And Severus Snape will have Weasley's head! What did you do?"  
  
"Ah. nothing. Should I have done something?"  
  
"Yes! I would have intervened!"  
  
"Well I'm sorry! Next time I impersonate you I'll study you a little harder. I also should have learned the students' names, I think, I didn't know anyone but Harry Potter."  
  
At that moment, the grandfather clock nearby struck twelve, causing Harry and Hermione to jump.  
  
"Stroke of midnight," said Professor Figg. "I'm changing back."  
  
Harry cracked the door open a little more and they peeked inside. Arabella Figg, wearing everyday robes, sat in a chair, watching the elegantly attired version of herself who stood by the mantel. But the latter had pulled the ribbons out of her chignon and was shaking out the dry grey hair; and with every toss of her head the hair darkened and lengthened till it was waist-length and glossy chestnut brown. The hem of the robes crumpled to the floor as the frail old body diminished in height, becoming youthfully slimmer and lithe.  
  
The woman flipped back her dark hair to reveal the soulful brown eyes of Perdita Clemens. "Merlin's beard, Bella, but it's difficult to be you."  
  
"Enjoy your youth, Perdita, one day you'll be old too," Professor Figg said dryly. "It's cold tonight, dear, put this on." She pointed her wand and a wine-coloured cloak fell round Perdita.  
  
"I take it you and Fletch didn't find anything?" Perdita asked.  
  
"Not a sausage. We raked the school top to bottom, with spells, charms and hands-on searching. We talked to every suit of armour, poltergeist, ghost, house-elf, painting, and statue. And though we found out several new secret passageways to Hogsmeade and all round the school, none of them could have been accessed by Voldemort or the Death Eaters. I even took a map of the school from Potter, but there was nothing eye-catching on it." The Marauder's Map! So that was where that went, Harry thought. He had wondered where he had put it. She or Lupin must have smuggled it out of his trunk somehow-probably when he was staying at her house.  
  
"Has Fletch gone home?" said Perdita.  
  
"Yes, but I'll take you back to Hogsmeade in a school carriage. Let's go now, before the students become suspicious."  
  
"If you like. Though they're mostly typical teenagers, never notice anything." Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him behind the grandfather clock. They peered out as the two witches stepped out of the anteroom.  
  
"Did you have children, Bella dear?" Harry heard Perdita ask as they moved through the empty Entrance Hall, neither noticing Harry or Hermione.  
  
"Yes, awfully bratty things, aren't they?" said Professor Figg, and they laughed as they walked outside. Hermione turned to Harry with large eyes.  
  
"Do you know what this means?" she whispered excitedly. "They must have arranged the Holiday Serenade just to get everyone out of the school at once so they could search it!"  
  
"They were looking for ways that Voldemort could get in," Harry said. "But they didn't find anything, so what does that mean?"  
  
Hermione shrugged. "Nothing, I suppose. He got in some other way. Oh- Harry, I think the fireworks are over. But I don't want to see Ron. Please Harry, can we go back to Gryffindor Tower? I've had enough for one evening."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said quickly, for she seemed genuinely anguished; and they trudged in silence up the stairs. 


	47. Nightmares

The weeks following the Holiday Serenade were tumultuous for Harry.  
  
Sally-Anne Perks officially became his girlfriend. The day after the ball she came to find Harry and delivered the goodnight kiss that they had neglected the night before. After the initial surprise wore off Harry decided he rather liked having a girlfriend, though at first he couldn't see what was so hard about it. Sally helped him with his History of Magic essays and accompanied him, Ron and Hermione to the rebuilt Three Broomsticks on Hogsmeade weekends. Sometimes she talked about problems in her life and gossiped about their other friends. She plotted with him about how to repair the breach between Ron and Hermione. Sometimes she liked to kiss him, which Harry didn't mind either. All in all, it was a fairly matched relationship, and highly beneficial to Harry in the aspect of the social hierarchy, according to Ron.  
  
"A smart, beautiful girl, and she's even a Hufflepuff," Ron said in wonder. "The whole school's talking about you two and everyone's opinion of you has skyrocketed. Sally's the best thing that could ever happen to you after that- that thing that- happened last year." Ron still couldn't find an appropriate phrase to use in reference to the death of Hufflepuff prefect Cedric Diggory, Harry's opponent in the Triwizard Tournament.  
  
Personally Harry didn't like Ron's portrayal of the good timing of Sally- Anne's interest in him. It made Harry sound sleazy, as if he had planned it. But he knew he hadn't- it really was just good timing. It wasn't his fault if his seeing Sally-Anne Perks inflated other people's opinion of him.  
  
But then Harry began to resent the closeness that Sally wanted between them. It wasn't anything about Sally herself, but because his nightmares worsened in frequency and intensity, and it was getting increasingly hard to conceal his exhaustion and agony from Sally during the day. But there was nothing he could do to curtail the horrible nightmares that plagued him nightly. He was right behind Voldemort, watching as every murder was committed, forced to watch the evil wizard's wand perpetrate indescribable acts.  
  
His only salvation was his Pensieve. The only way he could stop the images from staying in his brain when awake was by transferring them to his Pensieve. But when the memory was gone the pain remained. The bloody, gory horrors, the mutilations, the deaths burned in his mind- literally. Every flick of Voldemort's wand transmitted unspeakable pain to Harry's scar. Throughout the day, though the memories of his nightmares had left his mind, the lightning-bolt scar would recurrently sear with an excruciating magic fire. Harry had to work desperately not to faint in class. His schoolwork suffered from his constant headaches, and also from his falling asleep. When there was a lull in the migraines, Harry inevitably dozed off. Harry guessed that though he could tolerate sunlight, Voldemort probably loathed it, because he was quiescent during daylight hours. That was the only time that Harry could sleep without dreaming, although he was often wakened by the pain in his forehead.  
  
In his dreams Harry knew for a fact that he was not really with Voldemort, that the rough swish of the Death Eaters' black cloaks around him and the jarring, bloodcurdling screams of their victims were just electrical impulses in his brain, that the whole scene was being carried out miles and miles away without his physical presence. He knew all of those facts- but he could not convince himself. It was all too real. The magic between himself and Voldemort was so complete that the sensations of Voldemort were felt by Harry in his nightmares as if he were actually there. That was the best and worst aspect of the magical world: that everything, visions, smells, sounds, feelings, could be surreal- and yet so vivid that it seemed real. The Pensieve, the organizer of one's memories, was a device that represented the upside of that double-edged concept. Harry's nightmares clearly represented the downside.  
  
The old magic contained in Harry's lightning bolt scar was so potent that it could countermand other kinds of magic that Harry tried to cast on himself. The dreams magically binding Harry to Voldemort's side had reached a peak intensity that could not be suppressed by the potion for dreamless sleep that had worked before. Harry felt that Voldemort was closer now, closer and angrier and crazier than ever, and he could not sleep for fear of that feeling.  
  
One night at the beginning of January he had a dream that was much more peaceful than his regular visions, but still disturbing. He dreamt that he floated in the air above hundreds of long sleek creatures that glided along a cold stone floor, shimmering silver in the pale moonlight shining through an open window. They filled up the wide corridor but the flow seemed endless, like a silvery river. The air was full of their soft hiss, gentle and non-threatening; but meaningless as an infant's cheerful cooing. Then Harry fell through the air, slowly, and landed on the soft surging bodies, and was borne away on the coldblooded current down the dark hallways, on a journey that he vaguely knew but could not recognize in the dark. And then the floor stopped existing and he fell again, but he was plummeting through a black void with the silver river flowing all round him; a boy lost in a waterfall cascading into darkness.  
  
Wednesday, a few days later, they were eating breakfast in the Great Hall before classes when the doors suddenly slammed shut on their own, and green goo began to ooze down the walls from the ceiling. Then the blood-red outline of a snake materialized on the floor down the centre of the Great Hall and began to writhe. Several people fainted. Dumbledore blasted the doors open and the students and staff all ran out, terrified. Their meals were delivered directly to their common rooms for the rest of the day, while Dumbledore and the other Phoenixes endeavoured to understood how the Death Eaters had accomplished this prank.  
  
Two nights after that incident, Harry dreamed he was with the Death Eaters in a Muggle neighbourhood at midnight. The Death Eaters dragged Muggles from their beds and floated them round in the air, playing with them, throwing them around as children toss a ball to each other. Most of the Muggles were badly injured in the "game," and one elderly man broke his neck falling off his own chimney. In his dream Harry saw the man falling, ran to catch him like a Golden Snitch in Quidditch- but he was too late, and the old Muggle hit the ground with a crunch. The man's blood was everywhere.  
  
Harry woke up shaking uncontrollably. He ran from the room and was sick in the toilet down the hall. When he stopped he found Ron standing in the doorway, fear evident on his face.  
  
"Your dreams are getting worse now, aren't they?" he whispered. Harry nodded. Ron said slowly, "Sometimes you scream in your sleep. You don't know you do it, but I always get jolted awake and reach for my wand. You scream like you're getting attacked. But it's not real, Harry, it's just in your dreams," he said. "They're only nightmares."  
  
"They're too real," Harry said hoarsely, stumbling to the sink to rinse his mouth. He avoided looking in the mirror, fearing his reflection. When he finished he leaned on the sink and stared hard at Ron. "Promise you won't tell," he said.  
  
"You need help," Ron protested.  
  
"I don't want anyone to know," Harry said fiercely. Ron didn't understand, Harry thought. No one would understand. His pain was his own. The last time his prescient dreams had been made public, he had been labelled a lunatic and shunned by the magical world at large. No, he would endure this quietly.  
  
Ron and Hermione were at a loss. Though they were not speaking to each other, Harry had wangled a promise from each not to divulge his secret nightmares; but they were separately desperate to tell Hagrid, Dumbledore, Professor Figg, anyone, because Harry had never looked so bad before. He was like a walking corpse, pale from fright and trauma, and increasingly more emaciated. Harry wasn't eating much anymore, Ron and Hermione had both noticed. Harry couldn't eat. The pain in his head blocked all thought and all sensations. He couldn't bring himself to eat anything.  
  
Harry's appearance and misery were difficult to mask. He fell behind in assignments and consequently failed several tests and major projects. Professor Figg looked bewildered as she handed back his research project on the function of Shield Charms in duels.  
  
"Potter, your paper was. well, convoluted and straggling, to put it bluntly. You rambled on for seventeen feet of parchment without making one proper point. Your research was incomplete and inaccurate." She looked exasperated. "Frankly, it's quite mediocre- not what I expected from you at all."  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes, and repeated what had become a standard and now meaningless answer to any enquiries about his condition. "I haven't been sleeping well."  
  
Arabella Figg frowned deeply as she looked at him, but it was concern, and not anger, that furrowed her brow.  
  
Later she went to the Headmaster's office to discuss Harry's declining test scores, but when she arrived she found several teachers already there, for the same reason.  
  
"Headmaster, he used to be second in his class, after Hermione Granger," little Professor Flitwick said. "But he's failed three tests this month! I don't know what to do!"  
  
"He looks so pale and tired all the time," Professor Sprout added. "He's nearly sleepwalking. He nearly sliced off his own finger with his pruning shears."  
  
"He's doing worse than usual in History of Magic," Professor Binns said. "He doesn't even try to pretend to be awake during my lessons anymore."  
  
"Look at this paper he handed in last week, Albus," Professor Figg said, waving Harry's research essay at Dumbledore. "It's terrible! It looks like he wrote it half-asleep."  
  
"We're worried about 'im, Professor," Rubeus Hagrid said anxiously. "Have yeh seen 'im lately? Poor 'Arry looks like a ghost! And he won't say what's goin' on!"  
  
"His marks have been plunging steadily since the beginning of the term," Professor McGonagall said as she thrust Harry's grades at Dumbledore. "Honestly, I don't know where his head's gone."  
  
The Headmaster took the grades from Professor McGonagall and peered at them. "Thirty-two percent in Transfiguration?"  
  
"He turned my desk into a polar bear," said Professor McGonagall. "When I tried to ask him what he was doing he said he hadn't been sleeping well, and yawned in my face. Albus- the O.W.L.'s are coming up in June. If this continues, he'll fail himself out of Hogwarts."  
  
"What do you think I can do about it?" Dumbledore said mildly.  
  
"We want yeh to fix 'im!" Hagrid said. "He'll talk to you."  
  
So on Sunday evening, Harry was summoned to Dumbledore's office.  
  
"Harry, it has been brought to my attention that you are not well," Dumbledore began as Harry sat slumped in a high-backed armchair before the big desk. Dumbledore paused to look Harry over carefully. With the increased Death Eater activity inside and outside the school, he had been neglecting the supervision of Harry Potter, the Order of the Phoenix's barometer to Voldemort's feelings. Harry did look especially pale, Dumbledore reflected; his skin had an almost translucent sheen to it. His green eyes were downcast behind the thick round glasses and the jet-black hair did not appear to have been combed in several days. But most important was a detail the teachers had not noticed: Harry's lightning bolt scar, normally faded pink, was livid red, darkened crimson with pounding blood. Harry kept reaching up unconsciously to touch it.  
  
"You remember that I asked you to come tell me about anything unusual you might see or feel," Dumbledore continued, and paused again. "Is there anything wrong, Harry?"  
  
"I haven't been sleeping well," Harry said mechanically.  
  
Dumbledore looked at him, but Harry refused to meet the intense blue gaze. "Anything else?"  
  
"Sally-Anne Perks broke up with me today," Harry said softly, staring at his white hands. They had only been together a month, but Sally-Anne already knew him enough to know that she would have to be specially gentle.  
  
"I'm sorry Harry, it's nothing against you. You're a wonderful person and I really do like you, but it feels like you're far away from me. We'll still be good friends."  
  
Dumbledore surveyed Harry. "Miss Perks would not cause you to be fall ill like this, Harry. What is affecting you so badly that you would accidentally almost amputate your own fingers in Herbology, or absentmindedly Transfigure a desk into a rampaging polar bear, or let Professor Snape believe that he won at last?"  
  
Harry finally looked up. Dumbledore smiled. "You did not complete the seventh-year-level potion that Professor Snape assigned yesterday, despite the fact that Professor Figg tells me she taught it to you this past summer and you know exactly how to brew it. Professor Snape was positively jubilant this morning at breakfast. What is wrong, Harry?"  
  
"I've been having nightmares," Harry blurted out. He couldn't contain himself any longer. He almost did want everyone to know, to hear his excuse for his poor performance in school. He couldn't bear the thought of Snape believing he had bested Harry Potter. "Muggles and wizards being murdered by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I see it like I'm there with him, and then I read about the deaths in the Daily Prophet the next morning. The dreams won't stop, not even with magic, and they're getting worse and worse. I didn't tell you before because I didn't think there was anything that anyone could do to stop-" He halted and stared at his hands again. They were shaking.  
  
The Headmaster smiled sadly at him. "Harry, no one can help you if they don't know there's a problem."  
  
"That's not what I meant," Harry said. "I meant there's nothing you can do to stop the murders. I see them as they're happening. By the time I wake up they're over, and the press is already there taking pictures for the newspaper."  
  
"I see," said Dumbledore. "If we can end the murders first, the dreams won't be happening. But what about stopping the dreams themselves?"  
  
"I don't know what to do about the dreams," Harry said dully. "There's no magic to stop nightmares like these. I tried brewing a Draught of the Living Death, I tried casting a Stupefying Spell on myself- nothing works. I'm always sleepy, but if I do fall asleep, I know I'll see Voldemort killing people.  
  
"I'm sorry about not paying attention in class and falling asleep, but during the day is the only time I can sleep without dreaming. Voldemort never acts during the day. I think he hates daylight. He probably takes that time to think about what he'll do after nightfall. And- about what he'll do to me."  
  
"To you?"  
  
"When he gets to me." Harry's hand moved to his scar again. "My scar keeps burning like it does when Voldemort is close or angry. I can't concentrate on lessons."  
  
"Do you record your nightmares, Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently. "In your Pensieve?" Harry nodded. "May I see?"  
  
"You want me to get it?" said Harry, starting to stand up.  
  
"That won't be necessary," said Dumbledore, flicking his wand. "Accio!" The door flew open and after a moment, Harry's Pensieve, Summoned from Gryffindor Tower, soared through the air and landed on the desk.  
  
They both gazed into the shifting silver liquid. Dumbledore smiled grimly. "Perhaps I should have gotten you a deeper one. You've nearly filled this one up."  
  
After a few seconds the surface cleared and they watched Harry walking down an empty grey street at night. "This is from two weeks ago," Harry said. Dumbledore leaned forward and somersaulted into the Pensieve. Harry stared down at Dumbledore, who swiftly followed dream-Harry down the street, purple robes billowing out behind him.  
  
Harry was stumbling along the sidewalk, dragged unwillingly forward by his restlessly marching feet. He turned in at a squeaky-hinged gate, which Dumbledore recognized as the entrance to the home of Zelda Nettles, a spinster Ministry witch who had been found dead in her Topsham home two weeks before. Dumbledore had known her since childhood.  
  
The front door was wide open. Harry went in, Dumbledore close behind.  
  
Harry padded upstairs. The house was dark but light spilled under the door to one bedroom. Harry went towards it- but stopped short at a strident scream from the closed door. The scream of pain and terror, the witch's last futile plea for aid, made Dumbledore shiver.  
  
Then as Harry and Dumbledore stood frozen in the hall, an imperious voice from behind the door shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" There was a burst of green light under the door and the scream ceased abruptly. Harry gasped and staggered backwards, bracing himself on the banister with one hand, while the other flew to his forehead. Before his fingers reached his hairline, Dumbledore caught sight of the lightning bolt scar- now violently black. Harry fell to the floor. Dumbledore almost reached out to catch him, before he remembered that neither of them was really here.  
  
The house was silent. Then the door opened and a tall black-cloaked wizard towered in the doorway. Harry and Dumbledore both cried out, and Harry clasped both hands to his scar. Lord Voldemort walked right past them, deaf and blind to their presence.  
  
"Come along," he called over his shoulder. "We have time to exterminate a few more Ministry flunkies tonight."  
  
Four masked, hooded Death Eaters walked out of the room and filed downstairs after their master. Harry remained at the top of the stairs, staring after them under his hands. When the front door slammed his trance broke and he turned slowly to look through the open doorway of Zelda Nettles' bedroom. Dumbledore looked in as well, though he knew what was there. It had already been described to him in detail by Mundungus Fletcher, whom he had sent to investigate the murder.  
  
"She was lying on her side, facing the door. The sheets were rumpled- she'd been surprised in bed. She was tortured before she died. There was blood everywhere. She was lying in a pool of it, her eyes wide open in shock. She must have been terrified. Her wand was on the carpet by her hand- she might have been holding it when she died, but it was snapped in half. The Muggle neighbours called the police a little after midnight to report a loud scream from Zelda Nettles' house. We had to Obliviate all their memories, but only one could tell us that he had seen a group of people in black cloaks leaving the house and vanishing off the front porch."  
  
Dumbledore had seen enough. He crouched and then jumped up, and did a backwards somersault, hitting the floor of his office with a thud. Harry Potter stood looking at him.  
  
"Now you've seen it," he said quietly, and sat down in the high-backed armchair. "After killing that witch they Apparated to two more wizards' houses and killed them too, and I followed and saw those with my own eyes. It happens every night. Even if I'd told you about the killings right after I dreamed them, you couldn't have stopped them happening. And I can never see the faces of the Death Eaters, only Voldemort's. The rest always wear masks. I don't know who they are."  
  
Dumbledore sat down heavily in his own chair. "Harry... I don't know what to tell you. These are important dreams, even if you don't think so. Now I know exactly how Zelda Nettles died. I know that your nightmares seem real because they are actually happening at the same time as you dream them. But staying awake to avoid them won't help you. Harry, look at me." Harry looked up from his trembling hands. "You need sleep. You look like a ghost. Your schoolwork and your relationships suffer.  
  
"Harry, I am going to give you a respite from school. For the next two nights you will stay awake to retake tests and complete all outstanding assignments. Tomorrow morning, when you think that Voldemort is at rest, you will go to sleep, and sleep through the day.  
  
"While you are sleeping or working I will take your Pensieve, if I may, and with the help of a few Aurors I will try to sift through your dreams and decipher Voldemort's activities. When your furlough is finished we will hopefully have gleaned important clues to his whereabouts and plans, and you will be well rested to try returning to your regular classes."  
  
Harry looked uncertain. "Will that work?"  
  
Dumbledore shrugged and smiled mildly. "I've never known anyone with this problem. But this is worth a try."  
  
Harry was placed in the library with a pile of textbooks and a list of all the assignments he had to redo. He was determined not to let down Dumbledore. He willingly lent the Phoenixes his Pensieve with all his memories because it could hold the key to the mystery of Lord Voldemort's hiding place and of how the Death Eaters could enter the school.  
  
Harry had some trouble explaining the plan to Ron and Hermione that night. Ron was skeptical. "Your dreams come from your own mind, not from outside," he said. "Does Dumbledore expect you to have the answer imprinted in your brain?"  
  
"Ron, you're the one who's been living in the magical world your whole life," Harry said impatiently. "Why are you the only one who doesn't believe that what I dream is actually happening?"  
  
"I don't pretend to understand how you could have instantaneous visions," Hermione said. "To me it seems too much like Divination, like seeing things in ox skulls and tea leaves, which you know I don't believe in. But I suppose the reason Ron won't believe it either is because it shows a magical link between you and Voldemort that we don't want to think is there. The thought that you can see in your mind what he's doing... It really is a frightening prospect, Harry."  
  
Harry knew what she and Ron were scared of. "It doesn't mean that we're anything alike. It just means that there's a strong magic spell between Voldemort and I."  
  
"That's frightening enough," Ron said.  
  
He and Hermione glanced at each other for a fraction of a second and then looked away immediately. Harry sighed. It had been like this since the Holiday Serenade, just like it had been after the Yule Ball last year. It was as if they had an unspoken agreement to be perfectly civil but eerily formal to each other, and to never look at each other directly. Harry knew that Ron was dying to be able to talk to Hermione like normal, but Hermione refused to even speak to Harry about Ron. "That rude brute? Can't we talk about something else?" she'd answer flatly when Harry brought up Ron.  
  
To Harry's knowledge, Ron and Hermione did not even confer about him. He was surprised and slightly hurt. In the past whenever he had had strange dreams or scar-aches, his two best friends had found comfort in discussing their concerns for him with each other. Now Ron looked like he was full to bursting all the time, and Hermione had developed a twitch in her left eye from bottling everything up inside.  
  
Harry spent the night rewriting assignments that he had neglected or erred in. Professor Figg brewed a complex experimental potion that worked like Muggle caffeine and kept him wide awake all night. Harry was relieved not to have to dream about Voldemort. The school was dead quiet, and with no distractions Harry worked like a wizard possessed. He finished his work shortly after dawn and delivered everything to his teachers. Professor Snape alone was horribly disappointed to find Harry's overdue work on his desk, including a perfect Delusory Dram, the advanced potion that Harry alone in the class had been expected to figure out, but that he had failed because of his scar pains.  
  
He slept all the next day, waking occasionally from intense pain in his scar; but they vanished as quickly as they came, and he fell asleep again after each episode.  
  
In light of Harry's absence, or perhaps as a direct effect of it, Ron and Hermione recovered their vocal cords.  
  
In Herbology Professor Sprout announced, "Today we'll be feeding the Man- Eating Fangworts. It will be a little break from regular lessons. I was going to teach an important class today, but-" Her eyes flickered to Harry's empty place. "-I want complete attendance for that lesson, because it may be material covered on the O.W.L.'s in June."  
  
She showed them how to toss bits of raw red meat underhand into the slavering red gullets of the Man-Eating Fangwort plants, which would reportedly snap up fingers if one wasn't careful to stand quite far back. At first the students were worried about angering the Fangworts, which looked like overgrown Venus Flytraps, if they missed, but after a while the Fangworts began to amuse them by quickly stretching out their stems to snatch the meat from midair. Soon there was meat flying in all directions as the students teased the Fangworts, playing catch with them like dogs.  
  
As Ron stood grimacing and wiping his hands on his robes, Hermione approached cautiously. She stood next to him, and threw red meat into a fangwort's waiting maw in silence for a while; but then she couldn't contain herself and blurted out, "Ron, I'm really worried about Harry."  
  
"So am I," said Ron. "But I thought you weren't speaking to me."  
  
"I can't stand it any longer. I wish I had been able to talk to you before. We could have agreed that it would have been better to tell Dumbledore about Harry's nightmares."  
  
"It's worked out now, hasn't it?" Ron was curt. He was still angry and confused by her weeks of snubbing him for no apparent reason.  
  
Hermione sighed. "Ron, I'm sorry about slighting you since the ball. Truly I am. But at the time I didn't think of it as- as defending me." They were both pink now- they didn't usually discuss the problems between them openly like this. Lavender Brown saw them standing together, looking awkward, and started to come near, looking questioningly at Hermione- do you want me to save you? Hermione shook her head quickly and Lavender retreated with a shrug.  
  
"I guess it might have been a little embarrassing for you," Ron murmured grudgingly. He believed his actions against Malfoy to have been quite honourable and nearing gallantry, but clearly Hermione hadn't thought of the fight like that. He smiled ruefully. "Maybe I should stop trying to help you. I'm still serving detentions from when I took the blame for turning Malfoy into a football. But that time, you were, er, defending me."  
  
Hermione smiled too. "Now we're even."  
  
Seeing them smiling at each other, Sally-Anne Perks judged it safe to approach. She sidled over warily and said, "Would either of you know where Harry is today?"  
  
"Library," Ron said. Sally looked puzzled, so he explained, "Dumbledore let him take today off to catch up on homework and tests that he failed. He- hadn't been sleeping well." The phrase, the understated and overused automatic response of Harry's, caused Ron and Hermione to exchange glances, but now they did not feel compelled to look away quickly.  
  
Sally still looked concerned. "I thought he looked a little paler this month. It wasn't me, was it? Not that I broke up with him because he didn't look well. I did it because he seemed detached all the time."  
  
"Harry has a lot of problems in his life," Hermione said. "But he'll be back tomorrow for the big lesson." Then she shrieked in surprise. They had been standing still too long, and a Fangwort had leaned over and was pulling Hermione's hair in its sharp little fangs. Ron freed her, shouting, "That's why it's called 'Man-Eating!' "  
  
While Harry slept the blissful sleep of the blank-minded and Hermione and Ron let bygones be bygones, Albus Dumbledore closeted himself in his office with Phoenixes Perdita Clemens, Mundungus Fletcher, Quentin Trimble, and Harry's Pensieve. All day they wandered through Harry's gruesome nightmares and strove to decipher Voldemort's actions. But they made little headway. Voldemort's movements were arbitrary and unplanned. It was his spontaneity that made him so elusive. Some nights he ventured from his hiding place and went on a killing spree, and some nights he stayed in concealment. In some dreams he did not even appear at all, such as in the dream with the snakes; but as Harry believed that dream to have been a regular random firing-off of the synapses in his brain, he did not think it worth revealing to the Order of the Phoenix, whose time was precious.  
  
And as the research wore on, Albus's worries increased. He knew that Voldemort's yearn to kill Harry was growing by the day. In September he had been relieved to get Harry back to Hogwarts and under his close watch. In October the Azkaban jailbreak had been discovered, and still he had believed that he could keep Harry safe. But then those pranks had happened. The Dark Mark had glittered poison-green in the sky- the calling- card of the Death Eaters. No student would ever dare to use that incantation, not even the worst Slytherins.  
  
And later Maldora Lestrange had broken onto school property. How had she done it? Bella Figg refused outright to ask her. Seeing her estranged daughter after the theft of the Feather-Light broomstick had rapidly unravelled ten years of emotional repairs. Albus would not order Bella to speak to Maldora Lestrange; it was not necessary because he believed that he could discover the Death Eaters' secret entryway on his own. The Order of the Phoenix had investigated every possible angle and Bella and Fletch had scoured the school on Christmas- to no avail. The solution still escaped them. Meanwhile Voldemort continued killing Ministry witches and wizards almost every night, and the Order of the Phoenix was powerless to stop him because they had no idea what he was going to do next.  
  
The best clue that Harry's Pensieve afforded them was that Voldemort seemed to be minimizing his own role in the killing excursions. In the recent dreams, the voice that cried out the Killing Curse was more and more likely to belong to a Death Eater instead of Lord Voldemort himself. Though the amount of killings did not lessen, the participation of Voldemort was apparently waning.  
  
At first Perdita and Trimble were inclined to think that perhaps killing did not appeal to Voldemort anymore. "Perhaps he wearying of the exertion of murdering," Trimble suggested dryly.  
  
"It's possible," said Perdita. "He's only human, isn't he?"  
  
"No, he is anything but human," said Albus. "Technically yes, he is living in a human body, so he is human in that sense; all the immortality potions he took long ago have warped his soul so badly that he is most definitely not human."  
  
"Does that mean he can't have emotions like remorse or guilt?" Perdita asked.  
  
"No one knows," said Albus. "At least, we've never had the occasion to find out whether he felt remorse for the murders, if that's what you mean. But it is highly unlikely that Voldemort would wish he could get out of the killing business. He enjoys it. He always has. He relishes killing others, because it is a sign to them that they are mortal- and he is not."  
  
"What's a lot more likely," Fletch said, "is that the first times, he was setting an example for the Death Eaters, training them, you know? And now that they get it, he can back out gradually until they feel secure enough to go out on their own, without him to lead them."  
  
"You're saying they're afraid of going out alone?" Trimble said. "Maybe they're afraid of getting caught and not being able to escape."  
  
"No, I've got it," said Perdita excitedly. "It's that Voldemort's still aiming to keep everything under wraps. They want to remain anonymous and they want him to protect them. Something's missing from Voldemort's plan, something crucial that delays his re-emergence. He's not quite ready yet to take over the world, so the Death Eaters don't think it's safe to reveal their identities. Once he gains control, though, they'll certainly show themselves, because then they'll be at the top of the pecking order, so to speak."  
  
"Now there is an intriguing theory," mused Albus. "You mean that the Death Eaters who go out night after night with Voldemort, killing Muggles and Ministry wizards, are in reality well-known or well-respected witches and wizards, and would prefer to keep their social status until they think it safe to reveal their allegiance to Voldemort."  
  
"Yet for some reason Voldemort is retreating from his loyal servants," said Trimble. "Why?  
  
"Here's what I think," he went on. "He trained them to be more autonomous because he's going to devote his time and energy to something else- probably the missing link to his plan that Perdita mentioned."  
  
"Potter," said all four at the same time.  
  
"That Voldemort! Dogged little bugger, isn't he?" said Fletch. "Fifteen years, and he still hasn't given up on killing the boy."  
  
"Potter was the reason for his original downfall," said Trimble. "If I knew the boy better I could theorize about how it's going to be done. But the only time I saw him was when he chanced into the Leaky Cauldron with that giant fellow, Hagrid, a few years ago."  
  
"The ones who know him best are Sirius Black and Bella Figg, his godparents," said Albus.  
  
Perdita jumped. "Dios mio! Sirius I knew about, but Bella's the godmother? That would explain why she's so fierce about Harry." She looked a little sad. They all knew she was thinking of her still-born child.  
  
"Since Sirius is hiding out in Hogsmeade at the moment, perhaps we'd better consult Bella," Albus said.  
  
Bella was both helpful and completely unhelpful. She would not hypothesize on the manner of Harry Potter's murder by Voldemort; but when the various dreams viewed in the Pensieve were described to her, as well as Albus' conversation with Harry himself, her insight provided a wholly different angle on Voldemort's plot.  
  
"He only comes out at night," she said immediately after Dumbledore finished explaining. "That's the most significant thing I've heard in your whole research summary. He never comes out during the day, only at night, between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. if Potter's sleeping habits give any clue."  
  
"Harry said it was because Voldemort hated daylight," said Albus.  
  
"Why? It doesn't hurt him. Maybe he does hate it, but it's unreasonable to think that he ventures out in that small four-hour window of time for the sole reason of despising sunlight. He's not a vampire, and even if he was, the time between sunset and sunrise is much longer than those few hours."  
  
Her ice-blue eyes sparkled in her excitement. "It's a clue to his hiding place, Albus. He really cannot come out earlier than eleven at night or later than three in the morning. Something blocks him during the day. Perdita's right, he does want to stay concealed until he has a chance to kill Potter. That's why he doesn't come out during the day: because someone would see him and know that the rumours, denied by the Ministry, were true. And he doesn't want that- yet.  
  
"What we need to watch out for is random uses of the Killing Curse. If someone sees Voldemort before they are meant to, Voldemort will kill them on the spot, as fast as he can, for no more reason than they have witnessed something they weren't supposed to. So we'll have to keep a lookout for what seems like a casual use of the Killing Curse. But we'll have to look all over- Voldemort could be anywhere." 


	48. The Mile A Minute Vine

The next day, Tuesday, Harry was refreshed and eager to go back to regular classes. His teachers had only been told by Dumbledore that Harry was taking one day off to recover from an ailment- what the Headmaster left out was that the ailment was mental.

In Divination, the first class of the day, Professor Trelawney had a very smug look behind her thick glasses. "I have been conversing with the Fates," she proclaimed. "They have informed me that their prediction from September, the time when Jupiter crossed Saturn, still stands true. One person present at this time will not finish the school year," she said, and gazed dolefully at Harry. And on the off chance that Harry had not caught her meaning, she added, "And sudden illness often forms the vanguard of the powerful swath of Death." Lavender and Parvati gasped, but they were the only ones in the room not wearing skeptical looks.

"Honestly, if Voldemort really does kill me before the year's out, she'll be the happiest person at my funeral," Harry said crossly to Ron as they slid down the ladder from the Divination classroom.

"Don't say things like that," Ron said, shuddering. "I can't imagine that you'd respect her enough to invite her to your funeral. Come on though, we have to pick up Hermione from the Arithmancy classroom and get to Potions."

"I thought you and Hermione weren't speaking," Harry said slyly as they hurried down the hall and through a tapestry to a shortcut staircase.

"We buried the hatchet," Ron said, stepping over the vanishing step that always went missing on Tuesdays.

"Did you kiss and make up?" Harry teased, hopping the vanishing step. Seeing the warning look in Ron's eyes, he hastily amended, "I mean, er, good for you."

Snape was particularly wrathful in Potions. During the month of January, the quality of Harry Potter's work had been waning, and the boy himself had been starting to look a bit weary, and Severus Snape had been certain that he was winning; but after one day of missing lessons, Potter was back looking fresh as a daisy and the make-up assignments he had handed in had been thorough and nearly faultless. And the Headmaster had made it clear that all work submitted by Potter on Monday was to be accepted and recorded in place of the original marks. Snape was sour. He knew Potter's poorly appearance had been somehow Voldemort-related; but neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore said anything to Snape. He had gone from being a double agent to- nothing. He meant nothing to anyone, not to the Death Eaters, not to the Order of the Phoenix.

But Snape had, unfortunately, learned something. Harry Potter was important to Dumbledore. Would the old wizard have given time off to any other student or faculty member? Dumbledore liked the little brat, Snape knew. It was one weakness of Dumbledore's- and it was dangerous for Snape to know this, because Voldemort could contact him at any time and request an update on anything Snape had learned about Dumbledore. Snape had no desire to double-cross Dumbledore, but Voldemort's loyal servant Maldora Lestrange could brew a very potent Veritaserum to force the truth from Snape. Maldora learned from the best, Snape thought. From the same teacher as I did- her mother.

His worries about Dumbledore did not make him more acerbic than usual, but his insults were better. "Your Delusory Dram was perfect, Potter," he snarled during class. "But don't ingest any yourself. It may give you delusions of adequacy."

Malfoy sniggered. Harry wished he had the courage to turn round and curse Malfoy's smirk off his ugly face. He remembered Niamh Giffard's gift to him- the one word that could besmirch the proud Malfoy family name. At moments like this he wanted to jump up and point at Malfoy and shout, "Vampire!" But the time for revenge will come, he told himself.

Herbology was next. In the grey sunlight filtering through the glass panes of greenhouse four, Harry peered closely at Hermione. "What happened to your hair?"

Hermione frowned and self-consciously patted her head, where the missing patch of hair that currently resided inside a Man-Eating Fangwort had been. Ron grinned.

"Everyone back outside," called Professor Sprout as she bustled, clutching a bulging burlap sack tightly to her chest. "There's not enough room for this lesson in the greenhouse."

Mystified and excited, the students filed outside again. The snow still lay across the grounds, but a large square area had been cleared and thawed. In the square the soil was dry and brown. The students all crowded round the square and watched Professor Sprout carefully put down her sack in the centre of the square.

"Up to now we've been learning about the magical plants and herbs that were well-known and widespread across the globe. But it's also important to keep up with breakthroughs in the field of Herbology and the current research of botanowizards.

"A few months ago the British witch Phyllida Spore announced the discovery of a new species of magical vine in Caballococha in the Amazon Basin of South America. Phyllida Spore is world-renowned Herbology expert and author of several books including the textbooks we use at Hogwarts. She is a Hogwarts alum, actually, she and I were good friends at school here." While Professor Sprout smiled to herself, probably reminiscing, Hermione nudged Harry.

"Is that Professor Figg's daughter?" she whispered. Harry nodded, and almost added, "One of them," before he remembered that Ron and Hermione didn't know that Maldora Lestrange was Solange Figg.

Professor Sprout was talking again. "Her tests have proved that this vine can grow in most climates, from tropical jungles to deserts to winter landscapes like we have now. The only thing it needs to grow is soft earth.

"Its natural function is still somewhat unclear. All that is known is that it grows to extraordinarily heights in very little time. It grows at such an incredible rate, in fact, that Phyllida Spore has named it the Mile-A-Minute vine."

Dean Thomas raised his hand. "Now when you say mile, you don't actually mean..."

"No, of course not literally." Professor Sprout chuckled. "But it can reach almost 100 metres in 60 seconds after being sown."

"Is that bag full of Mile-A-Minute seeds, then?" Hermione asked, pointing at the burlap sack.

"Vine-pods, yes." From the bag Professor Sprout extracted one vine-pod.

"That's just a bean," said Ernie Macmillan disappointedly. It did indeed look quite mundane, a small pale purple object about the size and shape of a kidney bean.

"So it may seem," said Professor Sprout. She zapped the brown soil to dig a hole and held the vine-pod over it. "When you plant these things you'll need your wand in your hand, to stop the growth. And you'll want to stand quite far back or it will take your arm off as it shoots up. Careful now!"

She dropped the pod and leaped back, pointing her wand at the hole in the ground. For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a rumbling and a green stalk, almost as thick round as Harry's torso, erupted from the hole and raced up towards the grey skies. As it shot up, large flat leaves uncurled from the stem and spangled out on all sides.

"Stirpoterminus!" shouted Professor Sprout, and the great vine froze in its upsurge.

Harry shielded his eyes and squinted at the towering vine, which stood tall and strong despite the near-freezing temperature. Beside him Ron whistled. "That must have been almost a hundred feet straight up!"

"Mathematically, it grows about 5 feet every second," said Professor Sprout. "Since I called out the Pruning Spell after thirty seconds, it's about a hundred and fifty feet high. Despite its flimsy appearance, the Mile-A-Minute vine is quite sturdy and good for climbing." She demonstrated by scaling the vine, using the fat stems of the leaves that flourished on the sides of the vine as hand- and footholds.

When she came back down she took more bean-like vine-pods from the burlap sack. "Now you may try. But be careful not to drop them, because you saw how fast they grow. Everyone draw your wands! Practise the Pruning Spell. Repeat three times after me: Stirpoterminus!"

"Stirpoterminus, Stirpoterminus, Stirpoterminus," Harry said with the others.

"Good! And I hope you can all count to three, because that is the length of time you may let the Mile-A-Minute grow. In pairs now, come get one vine-pod each. Each partner watch that the other's vine doesn't grow too high."

With Ron and Hermione already a pair, Harry elected to team up with Neville Longbottom, who was quite good at Herbology. "You try it first," he said to Neville.

Neville shrugged. He fired a hole in the ground and planted his vine-pod so perfectly that it hit exactly fifteen feet in height. Neville happily climbed his Mile-A-Minute vine. "Now you try," he called down to Harry.

Harry nervously magicked a hole for his vine-pod. He had never been very good at Herbology- what if this didn't go well?

"It's easy," Neville called, as if he were reading Harry's mind. "Just drop it in and shout Stirpoterminus after three seconds."

Harry let go of the vine-pod and leaped back. One, two, three...

"Now, Harry, now!" Neville said in alarm, seeing Harry's vine shoot up past his face.

"Stirpoterminus!" Harry cried, and his vine froze.

"Eighteen feet," said Ron from the top of his eleven-foot-high vine nearby. "Rotten luck, Harry. Counting over is worse than counting under. What's wrong, forgotten how to count to three?"

"Yesterday she said this was going to be on the O.W.L.'s?" Harry asked, scaling his vine. It really was very sturdy, though it was only about Harry's girth, and the leaves grew out on all sides in convenient places for handholds.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, this may be covered on the O.W.L.'s," Professor Sprout called up from the base of his vine. "The Herbology O.W.L. is half practical skills and half essay writing. Since students who take the O.W.L.'s are expected to keep up with the news, some essay questions may deal with current events in the field of Herbology- including the discovery of new magical plant species."

"How could a vine this monstrous have only just been discovered?" said Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"It's a magic plant, Finch-Fletchley, it has camouflaging devices of its own. But something like it was mentioned in a Muggle fairy tale once, Jack and the Beanstalk."

"But that story was probably set in Europe," said Hermione. "How did the Mile-A-Minute vine emigrate to the Amazon Basin?"

Professor Sprout shrugged mysteriously. "It's not certain yet... but wouldn't that be a marvellous O.W.L. essay question?" She winked and strolled away.

"Now on top of everything we have to read Muggle fairy tales to research for the O.W.L.'s," Ron grumbled. "And what possible use could these ridiculous vines have in nature anyway?"

"Lookout towers?" suggested Harry.

"Television antennas for the jungle animals," said Hermione.

"What are television antennas?" asked Ron, astonished.

Elsewhere in the area Albus Dumbledore, Fletch, and a young wizard named Gideon Crumb, whose bagpipe-playing in the popular band the Weird Sisters covered up his being a member of the Order of the Phoenix, were also having an animated discussion.

"But I think Bella's right," Albus said. "Isn't it possible that Voldemort still wants to conceal himself from the public eye?"

"To what end?" asked Fletch. "What possible reason could he have for continuing to hide himself away, and in a place so perilous to his privacy as Bella suggests? He's powerful enough to come out now, that much is obvious from what Snape tells us. What is he still biding his time for? You remember Perdita said yesterday that he may be wearying of the gruesome lifestyle he has. Maybe he really is tired of killing, and he subconsciously wants to be caught."

"Let us speculate for a moment that Bella's theory is correct," Dumbledore said. "Let's suppose that Voldemort is living in some sort of cave somewhere with an entrance that leads to a public area for Muggles or wizards. Where could this entrance be, that he could leave it every night without being seen?"

"London?" said Crumb. "Diagon Alley, or Knockturn Alley, or even Muggle London. One of those rookeries like where Bella said the Lestranges lived." He perked up. "Perhaps it is that rookery where they lived. His lair might be in that sort of neighbourhood. They're usually dark and dingy and full of burglars and brothels and crime. No one notices if people are murdered in those bad neighbourhoods. They just think it was a bar brawl or a couple of drifters fighting."

"It's crawling with Muggles," Albus countered. "He couldn't go unnoticed among Muggles for so long. And even if he could, what would stop him from coming out during the day? No, he can't be in any Muggle London district."

"Well then what about Diagon Alley?" said Crumb. "It gets nice and empty after dark, doesn't it?"

Fletch shook his head. "The Ministry offices are right there near Gringotts Bank. Voldemort and his Death Eaters could never pass up an opportunity for wreaking havoc in the Ministry building. And besides, the point of having the only gate to Diagon Alley come from the Leaky Cauldron was just so that we could monitor who came and went. There is only the one entrance-"

"-that we know of," interrupted Crumb. "But look at Hogwarts, it's full of secret passageways and hidden alcoves and moving staircases. Why couldn't Diagon Alley be like that?"

"Because Hogwarts was built over a thousand years ago, and no one left us the blueprints," Albus answered. "But Diagon Alley was built to exact standards, to have precisely one entryway and no secret passages at all. It has always been necessary to keep lost or curious Muggles out of the world of magic. Now we use those measures to keep out Muggles and enemies."

"Then what about Hogsmeade?" said Crumb. "It's right by the school. Wouldn't it be a rather convenient place for Voldemort to hide out? Sirius Black said he lived in hiding in Hogsmeade for a few months. Couldn't Voldemort do the same?"

"But we searched Hogsmeade," said Fletch. "After the dragon attack, we combed the ruins of the village end to end. With a magical map that Bella stole from Harry Potter, we found a few secret entranceways to Hogwarts, but those were the only passages leading from somewhere to Hogsmeade."

"Then couldn't the Death Eaters have been using them?" asked Crumb.

"No, they didn't seem to have been used since Harry went through them two years ago. We barricaded them magically anyways, and Albus set up magic traps and security alarm spells at each secret entrance, but the pranks continued. The Death Eaters are still getting inside Hogwarts somehow."

"What if they really don't have to get in?" said Crumb, undaunted by the rejections of all his previous theories. He was younger than Perdita Clemens but just as eager to help and bursting with ideas and questions. "What if, like Bartemius Crouch, Jr. from last year, there is a Death Eater hidden inside Hogwarts at this moment?"

"Bella and I searched the place at Christmas," Fletch said.

"But Crouch was able to Polyjuice himself to look like Mad-Eye Moody," Crumb argued. "They might think it's a tried-and-true method, like when they switched the prisoners for live Muggles at Azkaban."

"Even if it were possible for them to execute the same audacious plan twice under my very nose," said Albus, "the Death Eater should already have captured Harry Potter and delivered him to Voldemort. He or she wouldn't be wasting time flooding classrooms and enchanting greenhouse plants and spreading Bundimun secretion on walls."

"I beg your pardon?" said Crumb, puzzled. He had been touring Asia with the Weird Sisters for the last four months, and had had to be filled in on everything when he returned to Britain two days before. "You didn't tell me about that."

Dumbledore explained to Crumb about the first pranks and the Dark Mark in the sky above the castle. Crumb shivered. "How appalling! The students weren't harmed, were they?"

"Only shocked," said Albus, frowning. "And we're still repairing the Charms classroom that collapsed. The Death Eaters somehow poured Bundimun secretion right at the foundations and rotted them away. We had to relocate poor Professor Flitwick to the fifth floor, and all the Charms students have to trek to the opposite end of the school for class. But clearly they haven't kidnapped Harry yet because they can't get to him."

"Say, Albus," Fletch said, sitting forward. "Didn't you say you met with the board of trustees about having a little gypsy witch at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Albus said. "Niamh is the latest of the ancient Irish Giffard gypsy line."

"The vatical kind?" asked Crumb, interested. "As in prophecies and all that?"

"No, she is clairvoyant. She can read minds and have visions like the dreams that Harry has."

"But clairvoyance is enough," said Fletch. "Problem solved! This Giffard girl can just tell us where Voldemort is hiding. No fuss, no muss."

"I had thought of that," admitted Dumbledore. "But I would have used it as a last resort. She's still very young. There's no telling how she would react to the request."

Then there was a knock on the door. The three wizards looked at each other in surprise; they had not been expecting more company. "Come in," Dumbledore said.

The door swung open to reveal a small student with an apologetic look on her face. "Professor Dumbledore, I'm very sorry to intrude," said Niamh Giffard, determinedly stepping into the room. "I heard your conversation in my head- not all of it, just the part where you started talking about me," she added, seeing Fletch and Crumb's shock. "And I had to come see you. I'm sorry but I read the password in your head, Professor."

Fletch recovered quickly. "Then you can read minds? Can you read Voldemort's?"

Niamh Giffard shuddered at the name. "No, that's exactly what I came to tell you. Human thoughts are what pass through my mind. You-Know-Who's not human enough for me to hear him."

"In other words, he's beyond your reach?" Crumb said in disappointment.

"I simply can't read You-Know-Who," Niamh said, looking imploringly from one wizard to the other. "It's just too- black inside him. I can't read his thoughts or see what he's doing. My powers can't stretch that much."

"It's all right, Niamh," Dumbledore said soothingly. "We trust your judgment of your capabilities. No one is forcing you to do anything."

"You couldn't even just have a little look at a map and try to point out his hiding place, could you?" Crumb asked.

"Gideon," Dumbledore said warningly.

"I really am sorry," Niamh said to Crumb. "It's not possible. He's not human enough."

"We understand," Fletch said kindly to Niamh. "But my dear, you must remember not to say anything about this to anyone. Not a word."

"I promise to keep my mouth shut," Niamh said. "I won't even think about it. But if you still want to pursue the oracular arts for your answers, you could ask Professor Trelawney. She seems to think she can read things in her crystal ball." Niamh's tone barely hid her scorn for the Divination teacher.

Before leaving Niamh paused and whispered something into Dumbledore's ear. After her departure the Phoenixes sat down again. "We seem to be back to square one," said Fletch.

"I can't help but feel as if we're wasting our time sitting here discussing," Crumb said. "I know that Perdita agrees with me. Why aren't we out there actively searching for Voldemort?"

"A minute of thinking is worth ten minutes of searching," Albus said sagely.

"And if you and Perdita want to go round the whole castle with a magnifying glass like Bella and I already have, you can be my guest," Fletch said sarcastically to Crumb.

"Maybe we will," Crumb said huffily, standing up.

"Fine, go ahead!" Fletch said, standing as well. "But watch yourself on that third-floor staircase with the vanishing step and also keep an eye out for that rascal Peeves. And don't miss off interviewing the portraits, they really loved that. Especially that mad knight Sir Cadogan, he's really a scream."

"Fletcher, Gideon, sit down," Dumbledore said severely. "I know that today's discussion has been less than satisfactory in terms of getting answers to our problems, but we are making progress. We've already ruled out several possible hiding places for Voldemort, just by talking about them," he added pointedly for Crumb's benefit.

"Sorry, Albus," said Crumb. "Wait! I've just thought of something. What about Malfoy Manor?"

"What, that musty old hovel in Inverness, Scotland?" Fletch said. "Are you saying that you think Lucius Malfoy is hosting Lord Voldemort in his guest room? It's a mansion, not a bed-and-breakfast."

"I think Malfoy's a loyal supporter of Voldemort," Crumb said defensively. "Admit it, you both suspect him too. The only reason he never went to Azkaban is because he's filthy rich and an unscrupulously profiteering turncoat."

"It crossed my mind that Lucius Malfoy knows where Voldemort is concealed," acknowledged Albus, "but to have such a monster living in his own house would be unthinkable. Malfoy is just as terrified of Voldemort as any of us."

"And besides, he has about a million servants and house-elves," Fletch said. "We'd have heard something at least by now."

"You suggest something then," said Crumb, finally getting annoyed.

"Well I was thinking," said Fletch, "what about that secret chamber Arthur Weasley mentioned a few years ago? Ron Weasley said he and Harry Potter had heard Draco Malfoy talk about a secret room under his father's study. But when Arthur managed to organize a raid of Malfoy Manor, the door to the secret room didn't turn up. It was hidden by a magic that was too impenetrable- possibly a magic that Voldemort had taught Lucius Malfoy."

"Or maybe it doesn't exist," said Crumb. "Did you think of that?"

"It has to! That's exactly where I would be if I were Voldemort."

"How do you suggest we get into Malfoy Manor, then?" Crumb asked. "Knock at the front door and say, 'Sorry to bother you, but can we get a bit of a look at your secret chamber?' "

"Listen here-" began Fletch heatedly, but Dumbledore stepped in.

"Stop this, both of you. I can see we've exhausted our mental resources for today. You both have work to do, I expect. I will contact you again when I need you. And Gideon-" Albus held out a piece of parchment and a quill. "Niamh requested an autograph from her favourite Weird Sister."


	49. The Godparents

By mid-February, Harry's nightmares had fallen off to only one or two a week- but the Order of the Phoenix's nightmare was just beginning. Harry only ever dreamt of what Voldemort was doing, and assumed that now since the dreams stopped, Voldemort was also being contained; but the killings did not in reality cease. It was just as Fletch had conjectured. Lord Voldemort had trained the Death Eaters to execute his plans without his supervision, while he applied his energies to some other contrivance- probably the murder of Harry himself.  
  
Bright as he was, Harry did not guess this. He was no Auror, and no anti- Voldemort strategist either; instead he had placed his faith in those people who were those things, and believed them responsible for the dwindling of his nightmares. His opinion of the Order of the Phoenix increased, from an already high level of esteem.  
  
One Hogsmeade weekend, Harry, Ron and Hermione were going to Zonko's Joke Shop to buy a present for Dean Thomas, whose birthday was coming up. Zonko's had suffered a lot of damage at Halloween. The Hungarian Horntail that had been unleashed on Hogsmeade had begun its rampage near Zonko's, which had been engulfed in flames. The whole shop had burned to the ground before its owner could reach it. It had soon been rebuilt in the near- exact image of its former self, but like all the reconstructed buildings in the village, the slight differences were enough to stab the hearts of visitors.  
  
The dragon, incidentally, had been found. After using it for their getaway, the two Death Eaters riding it had released the poor Hungarian Horntail into the wild. A team of expert dragon keepers, including Charlie Weasley, had been dispatched by the robbed Swedish colony immediately following the theft to find the beast. In the end it had not been Charlie or any member of his team who had located the dragon, but a royal hunting party, at the end of January. A certain prince had entered a small bear cave on his property that happened to be occupied at that moment by the Horntail, and he had had a rather nasty surprise on being greeted by a giant column of flame. After hearing his scream, which surely was heard in a three-kilometre radius, the dragon keepers had had little trouble finding the Horntail. Charlie had written to Ron, remarking, "Now I'm one of the few wizards in Britain who've had the privilege of Obliviating the memory of a Royal."  
  
"Do you think Dean wants a Screaming Yo-Yo?" Harry asked. "Neville accidentally broke Dean's blue one last week. But at least now we've figured out that when you feed a Screaming Yo-Yo to a toad and then try bouncing him, he'll keep screaming."  
  
"We should get Dean a Fanged Frisbee," Ron said confidently.  
  
"Did he tell you he wants one?" Hermione asked him.  
  
"No... but I want a Fanged Frisbee, and I know Dean would let us play with his if he had one."  
  
"Look," Harry exclaimed, "Zonko's has April Fools' Day jokes on display two months early!" They broke into a run and rushed into the joke shop.  
  
A minute after they entered Zonko's, a shaggy black dog peered out from behind a trash bin by the post office. Seeing the three Gryffindors were gone, he trotted off towards Hogwarts castle.  
  
Arabella Figg met him at the gate. "Come, Snuffles," she said.  
  
The witch and the dog walked into the school and climbed the stairs to Professor Figg's office on the second floor. Professor Figg locked the door and turned to the dog. "Coast's clear, Black."  
  
The dog barked gruffly and transformed into a man with long black hair. He was clean-shaven and healthy-looking. He looked round the office, a warm little room with photographs of Bella Figg's family, friends and former students liberally strewn all over the walls. Sixteen-year-old Sirius Black grinned and waved at his future self from a picture by the door. Looking at his photo, Sirius felt old. He turned round and smiled at the tea tray on Professor Figg's desk.  
  
"Are those scones for me?"  
  
"Of course they are," said Bella Figg. ""We haven't had tea together in ages."  
  
They sat at her desk and ate the scones and sipped tea.  
  
"You're looking well, Black," said Bella. "Not scrounging for scraps in rubbish bins anymore?"  
  
Sirius shuddered. "Next time I go into hiding, I'm choosing a place with less rats and more rabbits. I've been travelling with Lupin. He's not been completely defamed yet, so he doesn't need to change into a dog to get food and supplies."  
  
"Where did you go?"  
  
"Mostly round Northern Ireland, investigating suspected Death Eaters. We seized three Death Eater-aspirants during a riot in a shipyard in Carrickfergus. Listen to what they thought would help their master: they tore apart and burned a cargo ship, threw thirty kegs of nails into Belfast Lough, and shot the Dark Mark into the sky- amateurish, don't you think? They didn't even hurt anyone, except themselves- one of them got a splinter from the wreckage of the cargo ship. If Voldemort's trying to train fools like these, we won't even have to do anything at all, they'll just accidentally destroy themselves on their own."  
  
"Voldemort probably had no part in that," said Bella. "One, he'd cut off his own head before he'd let neophytes into his elite Death Eater circle; and two, he's been too busy here in England killing Ministry employees to worry about shipyard rebels in Belfast."  
  
"The pranks haven't stopped?"  
  
"No. And I know they're not being done from a distance, they're being done personally. And I know who's doing it- at least, who may be part of the prankster task force." Bella was furiously dismantling an éclair. "She sawed the legs off my chair, for heaven's sake! Does she think I'm stupid enough not to recognize her mark, her needless sadism, when I see it? That I need a reminder of the day that the world fell out from under me?"  
  
She dropped the éclair on her plate and wiped her fingers on her napkin. "She knows where my office is. She knows where my classroom is. They're getting to know the castle better and better, and we never even see them. How is that wretched girl besting me?"  
  
"Maldora Lestrange?" Sirius asked. He was more than slightly bothered by Bella's seemingly non-sequitur remarks.  
  
"Yes, her. The black half of Solange."  
  
Sirius was quite bewildered by now. "What does Solange have to do with this?"  
  
"So you don't know yet? I can tell you. It doesn't matter anymore. Eventually the temptation to ruin me will overcome her and she will denounce me to the world, however she may look afterwards in the eyes of her peers."  
  
He didn't understand. "Solange died a long time ago."  
  
"No, Black, she did not. She faked her own death and eloped with Derrick Lestrange, and changed her name to Maldora Lestrange."  
  
Sirius' jaw dropped. "Maldora Lestrange? No. That's completely inconceivable. I refuse to believe that a child of yours grew up like- that."  
  
"Thank you so much for reminding me once again what a terrible mother I was," Bella snapped, mistaking his disbelief for sarcasm.  
  
"That's not what I meant," Sirius said soothingly. He was still struggling with the bombshell that had just been dropped on him- Maldora Lestrange was Solange Figg? Now that he knew, it was incredible that he hadn't seen the similarities before. "I meant it as flattery. Look at Ignacio and Phyllida, they turned out to be exceptional adults, didn't they? Famous and greatly respected the whole world over. And Maldora- well, she became infamous and greatly feared the whole world over, but there's a bad egg in every dozen, isn't there?"  
  
"Even rotten eggs don't join fanatical anti-Muggle cults and kill people for fun," answered Bella. She exhaled angrily. "That's why I almost said no when the Potters asked me to be their son's godmother."  
  
"You could have raised Harry after Lily and James died and I went to Azkaban," Sirius said. "Why didn't you?"  
  
"Because I couldn't," whispered Arabella. Tears glimmered in her eyes. "I couldn't take him in. What if he had turned out like-" She bit off the last word, the name of her bane, and quietly wiped away her tears. "It's better this way."  
  
"No, Bella, don't you know him? Harry's only ever wanted his parents, Lily and James. Failing that, he wanted a loving guardian and a real home. He wanted someone to write to and to miss while he was here. The Dursleys treat him like a slave."  
  
"I know," Bella said in a low voice.  
  
"He used to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs-"  
  
"I know!" Bella said sharply. "I know that!"  
  
"Then why didn't you do anything?" Sirius shouted. "You had fourteen years to help him. Now he's-"  
  
"He's fine!" Bella cried. "Everything turned out all right."  
  
"But you had no part in it," Sirius said, lowering his voice as he got his temper back under control. "When I got out of Azkaban and found Harry, I did all that I could to help him be happy. I did everything that James would have done for his son."  
  
"So you're saying I should have behaved exactly as Lily Potter would have?" Bella said angrily.  
  
"Yes!" Sirius knew this was the wrong answer the moment the syllable left his lips. "I mean, no, not exactly as-"  
  
Bella leaped to her feet. "You don't understand, you don't understand! You don't know what it's like to have children! To see, to touch, to talk to this real thing that began its existence inside of you. To have shared your life force with a human that you bore- and then to have this person, this human who used to be yours, suddenly change to the point where you utterly separate. You don't know each other anymore, you disown each other. Once she was mine, and then she changed and she was gone- and I never understood what I had done."  
  
Now it was all out on the table, the truth of the long-standing inner turmoil of Arabella Figg. Sirius Black's head was spinning. Slowly he reached out and took her trembling hand.  
  
"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly. "Bella, it was not your fault. You may have brought Solange into the world and raised her to live in it, but in the end, she was the one who made her own choices. Not you."  
  
"But as her mother, didn't I have some effect on her judgment?" Bella demanded. "It all came down to one last choice: me or Voldemort. And she chose Voldemort."  
  
"You don't know that," began Sirius, but Bella cried, "Don't I? My husband Faustus was my first and last love. Solange knew that. She knew that we loved each other so much that to kill one would be like killing the other too. And she targeted me first. If I hadn't been as sharp as I was, if I had let my pain and sorrow at being betrayed by my own daughter overwhelm me, she would have killed me. But Faustus- he saw my pain. It- it sounds stupid to say it, but I've only ever wanted Solange to come home to me, to turn back into the sweet, beautiful little girl I thought I had; and Faustus knew what I felt.  
  
"That's why he went after Solange- or Maldora, as she was called after she changed. Not for vengeance, as everyone, including you, may have believed. He tracked her down to ask her to come home. If she had left Derrick Lestrange and Voldemort then, I would have welcomed her home with open arms, taken her back into the family and defended her with all my might, from Voldemort and from the world at large.  
  
"That, Black, was her choice. She could have said yes and come home, and ended the whole thing- including the war with Lord Voldemort. You know how crucial she was to Voldemort- if she'd left, the Death Eaters might have fallen apart, and the war would have been over. If only she had loved me a little more. As it was, she didn't. She chose instead to say no, she was perfectly happy with Voldemort and Lestrange. But she couldn't have let Faustus come back to Britain and tell me himself. She wanted to kill me, but now she had the next best thing, pleading to her on his knees. So she killed him! She killed her own father, and in doing so she killed her mother. The Ministry said that Derrick did it, but I know it was Solange. She wanted to kill me from the start and she succeeded. My heart died when I found Faustus' body in a casket on the front steps."  
  
Sirius also had tears in his eyes. "Oh, Bella..."  
  
Arabella Figg stared at him. "I'm the walking dead. I'm a puppet on a string being controlled by a million different people- Fudge, Dumbledore, Minerva, Potter, and now Solange again, but I've been dead for ten years. I feel only what people want me to feel, what will make them happy to see. But no one understands. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. Oh yes- Potter. You see now, don't you, Black? I twist and warp and kill the things I love. It's taken me years to realize, but it's true. I said yes to the Potters about being their son's godmother because I loved them, but look what happened to them. And I love the boy so terribly much that I can't hurt him by admitting it- to him or to me."  
  
She burst into tears and sank into her chair, and sobbed like a child on Sirius' shoulder.  
  
"Bella, it's all right, it's all right," Sirius whispered gently.  
  
"It's not all right, it will never be all right," Bella sobbed.  
  
"He already knows," Sirius said without meaning to, and Bella looked up so quickly that her tightly bound chignon nearly hit Sirius in the nose.  
  
"He knows? You told him?"  
  
"I'm sorry!" said Sirius. "I didn't know that you didn't want him to know! But now he does, and he's hurt that you hid it from him all these years, never showing a sign of affection. He's confused because he feels that you withheld your love and your magic from him for his whole life, and until two minutes ago so was I. I won't pretend to be able to understand you like Faustus could, but now I do understand, Bella, at least partly. There are things that you yourself understand but won't accept. Solange did die, Bella. Only afterwards was Maldora, a completely separate person, born, and she did was for herself, not for you.  
  
"Solange's ultimate choice was between staying herself and killing her identity to give life to Maldora's. But what you forgot after raising three children is that at one point they must decide for themselves, and at that moment your will has no part in that decision."  
  
Arabella Figg was crying again. Sirius pressed on. "Bella, there are some things in this world that you can't change; but there are also some things you can. And I tell you that now Harry knows you are his godmother. What are you going to do about it?"  
  
Bella wiped her eyes. "Tell him I love him, I suppose. But I don't know how. With Ig, Phyllida, and Solange, it was easy- they really were mine, even if, as you say, their individual volition did not come from me or Faustus. But Harry Potter isn't my son."  
  
"But you remember how to love," Sirius said. "Maldora can't have killed that part of you. Remus Lupin said you enjoyed having Potter with you this summer."  
  
Bella smiled. "Yes. Potter is so old, and yet still such a child- it was like- like-" She looked at Sirius in surprise. "Like waking after years of slumber. Being reintroduced to life. Being reborn, in a way." She clutched Sirius' hand tightly, imploring, "I can keep him with me, can't I, Black? Give him a place in my home? I'll raise him as my own. You needn't worry about him ever again. Raising another child- he'll help me live."  
  
Sirius nodded, tears welling up in his eyes again. Finally he had helped her.  
  
"Maybe I'm not dead after all," Bella said in wonderment.  
  
* * * * *  
  
After careful searching, Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to get Dean Thomas a Mirror of Eyesores, which magically disfigured any reflection to create the most horrendous likeness imaginable. Harry looked in and half- screamed, because he saw his green eyes made huge behind unflatteringly thick glasses, his skin covered in boils, and his mouth gawping in an unbecoming way. "Dean'll love it!" Ron exclaimed, seeing Harry's horrified expression.  
  
By the time they got back to the school around four-thirty, Sirius Black was gone. But when they passed by Professor Figg's office she called through the open door to Harry.  
  
"Potter, would you come in for a minute?"  
  
Harry immediately left Ron and Hermione and entered her office "Yes, Professor?"  
  
She was sitting at her desk, looking placid. The tea things had vanished back to the kitchen that Bella had conjured them from. Her tears had long dried and her icy blue eyes were impossible to read. "Close the door, Potter, and sit down."  
  
Harry sat, feeling apprehensive. Was she going to rebuke him for another poor essay? He didn't think so. These past few weeks he had been working harder than ever before, and was now at the top of most of his classes.  
  
She wasted no time, because she knew if she tarried she would lose her nerve. "Potter, I'm sorry that I never told you this before, but you are my godson."  
  
Then she held her breath. It was the moment of truth. Now she would know whether Harry was worth taking in. If he feigned surprise she would know he was too manipulative, too sly, too much like Solange had been when she was his age. Sirius Black had known how bad Solange was, and he had clearly thought it prudent to not mention it to Bella; but Bella knew. She had always known, but she had been willing to overlook Solange's iniquities. She had only been pretending to have believed she'd lost a good, perfect daughter in Solange. But if Potter lied now, it would be proven that his nature was like Solange's, too cunning and calculating for Bella or anyone to control.  
  
But Potter did not disappoint her. "I know." He was apologetic. She let out her breath. "Sirius told me a long time ago. I'm sorry that I never told you that I knew."  
  
"No, it was entirely my fault. I've wronged many people in my life, but you most of all. You must feel cheated and deceived, and you're right to feel that way. But I want to make it up to you."  
  
She produced a thick white envelope and pushed it across the desk to Harry. He took it, slowly, and opened it.  
  
Inside was a sheaf of papers filled with minute print and each bearing a blank line at the bottom. "Title Deed: 47 Lethean Court," he read at the top of the first page. Arabella Figg's name was sprinkled across the papers and a few sheets near the back contained his name as well. "What is this?"  
  
"The deed to a house in Hogsmeade," Professor Figg said softly. "A house that I want to buy. There's a beautiful little backyard with a garden and a birdbath, and one outer wall is covered in ivy, and it has a kitchen and a fireplace and- and- two bedrooms."  
  
Harry stared at her, slowly realizing what she was saying. "Two?" he whispered, hardly believing that this was happening. He was dreaming.  
  
Arabella Figg nodded. "One for me, and one for you, if you want."  
  
Harry smiled suddenly. It was real! "Yes- please."  
  
Then Arabella Figg smiled too, and stood up and came round the desk to hug him like she had at his surprise birthday party in July. Before she embraced him Harry thought he saw the glimmer of tears in her dark blue eyes. Then he hugged his godmother, his guardian.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle, Draco Malfoy was walking through an empty hall in the new Charms wing. With a furtive glance in both directions, he opened the door to a darkened classroom, where a small figure was perched on a desk, impatiently making green sparks with her wand.  
  
"You're late," she said flatly when Malfoy slipped through the door.  
  
"Peeves was making trouble in the dungeons and I had to come by another way." He caught himself sounding apologetic and put his trademark swaggering tone back in his voice. "What do I care that you were left waiting? And why am I helping you anyway?"  
  
"Because it maddens you to see the two of them together, my Ron and that Mudblood," the little witch answered. "Now listen closely because I'm in a hurry, I'm supposed to be meeting Catriona Zabini in the library at ten- thirty."  
  
"What d'you want then?" Malfoy said, annoyed. "I did well at at Christmas, didn't I? They were furious at each other for weeks. You had almost a four-week window and you couldn't even do your part. Now they're back together, thick as thieves, always laughing and smiling at each other."  
  
"It's nauseating," agreed the girl. "But I can do it, Draco, I really can. I only need an opportunity."  
  
"I gave you the opportunity you asked for at Christmas," Malfoy snapped, but relented seeing the imploring look on her face. All carefully calculated, of course, but Malfoy didn't know how smart she was. "All right, I'll help you again."  
  
"I want to get him something for Valentine's Day," said the girl. "Something big, and maybe expensive."  
  
Ordinaryily now would have been the time for Malfoy to make a snide remark about Ron being poor and unworthy of expensive gifts, but he was distracted by the mention of Valentine's Day. That detestable Pansy Parkinson was planning something for Valentine's Day and Malfoy was dreading February 14th. He dragged himself back with effort to the situation at hand. "I don't know what you can get him."  
  
"Well, what would you want a Secret Admirer to give you?"  
  
If I had one at all, I'd want her to be brave enough to show her face, Malfoy thought. Aloud he said, "I want nothing. I already have everything I want." Not true, sniggered a little voice in the back of his head, but he ignored it with effort.  
  
The girl pulled a pink velvet journal from her schoolbag and leafed through it. "Let me see, where did he mention gifts? I think it was just before Christmas-"  
  
"Ugh! Do you really keep a journal of everything he says and does?" Malfoy asked, disgusted. "You're not an admirer, you're a stalker! How vile."  
  
"Vile!" exclaimed the girl.  
  
"And cowardly," Malfoy said before he could check himself.  
  
"Cowardly!" echoed the girl, outraged. "You're calling me cowardly? You, who can't even face Harry Potter for fear that he'll show you up once again?"  
  
That stung Malfoy, but he didn't show it. "This isn't about me. You're the one who hasn't the pluck to tell some idiotic plebeian that you fancy him. You girls, you always have to play games! Why can't you ever tell us anything straight out?"  
  
"I'm shy!" cried Ron's Secret Admirer angrily. "At least I'm not afraid of some half-blood boy wonder!"  
  
"Suddenly you're on my side then?" said Malfoy. "I thought you were pro- Potter, one of Baddock's adherents."  
  
"I'm not," lied the girl. "What have you got against Malcolm anyways?  
  
"He loves Scarhead so much he's practically joined his fan club," Malfoy said bitterly. "My own cousin, betraying my pureblood family like this!"  
  
"Harry Potter saved Malcolm's life. Is it so terrible to want to honour a life-debt to someone?"  
  
"Potter can't go two bloody days without making himself a hero," cried Malfoy. "It's not a question of life-debts, it's a question of Potter hogging the limelight. I want to take that half-blood down a peg, and your precious Weasley too."  
  
"You'll never succeed," the girl said boldly, but inside she was worried. Malfoy quite embodied the Slytherin principles. He was quite clever and very ambitious. She had known him long enough to understand that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And so would she, she realized. It came down to a battle of will between her and Malfoy, then. Nice as Potter was, she didn't much care for him; but she definitely didn't want Malfoy to hurt Ron. "Where would you even start?"  
  
Malfoy shrugged. She noticed he was fingering his wand. "My father taught me a lot of good hexes this summer." He laughed, and she shuddered. Then Malfoy smiled slowly. "I know what you can give Weasley for Valentine's Day."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Harry burst through the portrait hole into Gryffindor common room. "Guess who's being adopted!" He stopped short, seeing Hermione and Ron sitting close together by the fireplace. They jumped apart with guilty looks when he barrelled in.  
  
"Sorry, Harry, what did you say?" Hermione said, flushed. Ron's ears were red.  
  
"Er- I said I was looking for Seamus Finnigan," Harry stammered, and backed out the portrait hole quickly. He didn't start grinning until he was out in the hall. 


	50. O Calamity!

Sunday, one week later. Valentine's Day arrived, to the dismay of many.  
  
Draco Malfoy was horrified when Pansy Parkinson, blushing madly, presented him with a gaudy heart-shaped ruby ring, which, she explained, would cause him to "always be thinking of me." It took a lot of self-discipline for Goyle and Crabbe to contain their laughter until they could get away from Malfoy.  
  
The caretaker Argus Filch spent most of the day holed up in his office, poring over spellbooks from the Kwikspell Magic Correspondence Course and plotting his revenge on his cat Mrs. Norris' new feline beau, the black cat named Snowball who belonged to Professor Figg.  
  
Professor Figg, for her part, cloistered herself in her office and wept over a white album of her old wedding photographs, while Minerva McGonagall tried vainly to comfort her friend.  
  
At breakfast that morning Ron's Secret Admirer struck again. No one but Harry noticed Hermione's deep frown when a sleek eagle owl deposited a red package in Ron's toast crumbs that morning. Inside was a chocolate layer cake decorated with red cherries that spelled out "Ron".  
  
"Ye gods," said Hermione, staring at it.  
  
Harry picked up the attached note, scented with Enchantment perfume. " 'Darling Ron, Happy Valentine's Day. Think of me.' Well at least she's getting more succinct."  
  
Ron laughed uneasily. "Er..."  
  
"Aren't you going to eat it?" Hermione asked, her gaze dangerously intense.  
  
Ron glanced round the Great Hall and back at Hermione, and then closed the lid of the box. "Maybe later." Hermione beamed.  
  
On Valentine's Day, Harry rolled his eyes so many times he bent his glasses. Ron and Hermione kept giggling nervously for no apparent reason and exchanging secret smiles that Harry couldn't understand. Eventually he left them alone together and went off to find Neville, Seamus, and Dean, whom he assumed were equally alone and glum (Dean having recently said the wrong thing by accident when Lavender Brown had asked if her new robes made her look fat).  
  
As he turned a corner on the way to the Gryffindor common room, he came across a small girl sitting at the foot of a statue of the sorceress Circe, who was depicted holding a pig in her arms and smirking. The girl was reading a large textbook, but she looked up in alarm Harry rounded the corner, and gasped when she recognized him. "What-" Harry said, but he only caught a glimpse of her pale face before she leapt to her feet and fled, her black hair and robes flying out behind her. She accidentally dropped the book as she ran, but did not go back for it. Harry knew her from somewhere, but couldn't quite place her face. He walked forward and picked up the book. "How to Wile a Wizard: Seductive Sorcery for the Woebegone Witch," he read. Puzzled and slightly unsettled, he kept the book and went on to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
He forgot about the episode until that night, when came back from brushing his teeth and found Ron alone in the dorm, sitting on his bed in his pajamas with a fork in his hand. The cake box was open before him and a chunk was missing. He seemed hypnotized.  
  
Harry sat down cautiously beside him. "Ron?"  
  
"It's so strange," Ron said. "I didn't like this Secret Admirer girl at all. I- well, I thought I fancied Hermione. But- I feel almost as if- I *could* like my Secret Admirer. I think I could love her."  
  
Harry was disturbed. "Ron, did you eat the cake?"  
  
"Yes," Ron said dreamily. "Oh, if only I could see her face to face..."  
  
Harry now seized the book that the girl had dropped and looked up Love Potions. Sure enough, there was an entire section called Captivating Cookery: Sneaking Love Into Every Bite. Harry sighed. "You're a fool, Ron... And there are no antidote recipes. I don't know any... I'll have to fetch Hermione."  
  
"Who?" said Ron. Shocked, Harry ran to call Hermione.  
  
Hermione was predictably furious.  
  
"What does she think she's doing?" she fumed as she chopped daisy roots for the antidote, which she remembered from a book. "Love Potions are not allowed at Hogwarts! Everyone knows that. If only I knew who she was, I would report her. Overstepping her bounds... Put this in," she said, thrusting a vial of leech juice at Harry. "She's absolutely mad, putting a forbidden potion in a cake."  
  
Ron woke from his trance and stared at Hermione. "I'm sorry Hermione but I don't like you anymore," he said mechanically. "I'm in love with my Secret Admirer. Forget anything I said to you before. You mean nothing to me." Hermione looked at him mutely, looking hurt. "Now I must go find my real love." Ron jumped to his feet.  
  
Harry quickly drew his wand and aimed. "Stupefy!" Ron fell back on the bed and began to snore. "It's just the Love Potion talking, Hermione," Harry said quickly. "They make people foolish. Or I guess in Ron's case, foolisher."  
  
Hermione shook her head and went back to the potion. "When I figure out who this Secret Admirer girl is..."  
  
"She's small and pale," said Harry. Hermione looked up in surprise. Harry explained about the girl he had seen at the base of the Circe statue and showed Hermione the book she had dropped.  
  
Hermione took the book and flipped through it. "This isn't from the library, I'd know it," she said with certainty. Harry grinned as he stirred the antidote. "Oh, I know, I saw it at Flourish and Blotts once, for fifteen Galleons four Sickles. Astronomical, no? This Secret Admirer must have rich parents, if she can afford to pay that much for a book. And you recognized her but couldn't place her? Well at least we know she's a student." Hermione narrowed her eyes and seethed, "One day I'll get even with her, don't you think I won't."  
  
"The potion's ready," said Harry.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ron was cured and the cake was disposed of. Hermione forgave Ron his potion-induced obsession, and soon people began coming across Ron and Hermione together everywhere: behind stacks of books in the library, under tables in the Great Hall, curled up in armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, and in every hidden chamber and passageway that they had thought was secret.  
  
"There's nowhere to hide in this whole bloody castle," Ron raged. "I'd kill to be a Death Eater right now, to know where their hiding place is."  
  
Harry didn't like to joke about that. From the dark-circled eyes and frustrated looks of the Phoenixes, he deduced that time was getting short on something; but on what exactly, he did not know.  
  
He knew they were getting somewhat slipshod in the confidentiality of their investigation- the Daily Prophet ran a small side note on the alleged spotting of Sirius Black, escaped mass murderer, at a Quidditch match in Caerphilly. More than anything Harry wanted to clear Sirius' name once and for all. It had occurred to Harry that if Sirius was cleared of charges, he would be free to take on the joint custody of his godson. Harry would have both godparents, and therefore would have two warm homes instead of none. He would never, ever have to face the prospect of living with the Dursleys again. His heart soared at the thought of all that independence- and Sirius' freedom was only one confession away. Not Sirius', of course, but a Death Eater's- any Death Eater who knew of Peter Pettigrew's guilt would do for Harry.  
  
But he particularly had his heart set on Maldora Lestrange. He had a fantasy of himself besting Maldora Lestrange in a wizarding duel, and dragging her in for questioning by Dumbledore, who would later hand him a golden ring as they stood within a circle of applauding Aurors.  
  
"You earned this," Dumbledore would say.  
  
"Your bravery and skill freed me, Harry," Sirius Black would say, joyful.  
  
"Your parents would have been very proud," Arabella Figg would add tearfully. "I'm awfully pleased that you managed to defeat my nemesis Maldora. At last I have closure and can live a happy life."  
  
This was all pure fiction, of course, penned inside Harry's head, and would probably never happen- certainly not with that exact dialogue.  
  
But Harry couldn't get the thought of that golden ring out of his head. He wanted it terribly. His parents James and Lily had had the same goal. If only he could attain that level, he could show the world that he wasn't just a symbolic hero. Hadn't the Sorting Hat said he had a thirst to prove himself? He had defeated Voldemort as a baby, but that was his clever mother's triumph. He had won again against Quirrell and the Basilisk because of that same ancient magic- none of that had been his doing, only Lily Potter's. Even last year in the wizarding duel against Voldemort, his parents had been there to counsel him.  
  
He appreciated their sacrifice and everything they had done for him, but that was between his parents and himself. On the global plane there was still a score to settle. Magic folk everywhere worshiped him for his parents' skills in magic, not his own, and though it usually bothered him little what other people thought, he could not forget the knowledge that he was personally unworthy of his reputation. What had Dumbledore said once? "You too can earn yourself a place among the nation's greatest Aurors." Harry would do it; he would prove that he could be a great wizard of his own right. And he would start by earning a ring from the Order of the Phoenix. Then he would at least feel closer to his parents, if nothing else.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Winter dissipated as soon as it had come. The first Quidditch matches of the year were scheduled for the first weekend of March. Gryffindor played Slytherin in a thick fog, a milky blanket that had settled on the castle with the changing of the seasons. Soon after the match began, the fog lifted, but this only revealed a grey sky heavy with rainclouds, which was little comfort. A torrential downpour began, and fairly pummelled the players with fat stinging raindrops.  
  
It was a close match, and by the time a flash of lightning illuminated the pitch and revealed to Harry's sharp eyes a glint of gold flitting high in the sky, Gryffindor and Slytherin were tied at 80 points. Harry dove at the Snitch, which sped away, followed closely by Harry and Malfoy. The crowd was on its feet cheering wildly as the two Seekers raced in loops and circles, trying to out-manoeuvre each other, arms outstretched towards the Snitch, which danced just beyond their reach.  
  
Both boys had practised extensively in the summer months, Malfoy in the private courtyards of his father's estate, Harry in the playground near Arabella Figg's house. They were both excellent fliers, even when soaked to the bone and exhausted; but in the end it was Harry who took his courage in hand and leaped off his broom to grab the Snitch out of the air just ahead of Malfoy. Harry plummeted forty feet, and was sickeningly reminded of a nightmare he had had of a rigged Quidditch game which had ended in much the same way. But Professor Figg in the stands drew her wand and shouted "Resilire!" and Harry felt the impact of a blue jet of light just before he hit the ground- and rebounded, having been hit by a Bouncing Charm. He bounced off into the corner of the pitch and when he ran out of momentum he lay in the mud, dazed, amid the spectators' cheering and the shrill gurgling of Madam Hooch on her water-filled whistle.  
  
"Gryffindor wins!"  
  
After the match Harry thanked Professor Figg and stumbled off with Ron and Hermione to Hagrid's cabin, where a roaring fire dried their soaked, muddy clothes and a cup of tea thawed their frozen limbs.  
  
"What a c-c-catch that was, H-Harry," Ron said, teeth chattering. "You should have seen Malfoy's face when you grabbed it. He was furious because *he* didn't have the guts to jump off his broom, the spineless louse." He had a fit of laughter that was soon interrupted by a fit of coughing. "Sorry- water in my lungs."  
  
"Ron, have a bite to eat," urged Hagrid, holding out a plate of unappetizing grey rocks. "Shrewbery cakes," he said brightly when Ron recoiled in horror, coughing worse. "From the cookbook you gave me for Christmas." Determined to tactfully improve the cooking Hagrid served them when they came to tea, Harry, Ron and Hermione had splurged on a leatherbound cookbook for their friend, replete with colour illustrations, diagrams, and explicit instructions. Unfortunately it didn't seem to have worked, because Shrewbery cakes were supposed to be delicate, flaky pastries.  
  
Harry touched his bare neck, wet and almost bruised from the stinging rain. "Ouch... Why did make us play in this rain anyways?"  
  
"They want to finish the Quidditch season early," Hermione said, pouring him a cup of tea. "They're getting short on time."  
  
After a fraction of a second, Hagrid chuckled nervously. "What are yeh talkin' about, Hermione?" He glanced at Harry, who returned his look of consternation. He didn't remember having said anything to Ron and Hermione about the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
Hermione didn't notice their silent exchange, occupied with thumping Ron on the back. "Have you all forgotten? The O.W.L.'s are coming in June!"  
  
Hagrid let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, the O.W.L.'s. None of yeh need to worry about those, you're all clever little devils."  
  
"But Professor McGonagall said that Gryffindor hasn't gotten more O.W.L.'s than Slytherin in twenty years!" cried Hermione- O.W.L.'s were a subject very close to her heart. "We must beat them this year."  
  
"Ravenclaw always gets the most, why aren't you trying to beat them?" Ron said.  
  
"I want to beat them too," Hermione said. "I must get the most O.W.L.'s in our year."  
  
"No worries there, Hermione, you're the cleverest witch in Europe," chuckled Hagrid.  
  
"Are the O.W.L.'s international?" Harry asked, interested.  
  
"Of course," said Hermione. "The O.W.L.'s are standard exams for students our age round the globe. Even witches and wizards who don't go to a magic school like Hogwarts, like the home-schooled ones or the ones who enter skilled trades, can take the exams."  
  
Harry smiled at the thought of acne-ridden Stan Shunpike, conductor of the Knight Bus, struggling to write a three-foot essay on the bombastic alchemist Paracelsus.  
  
Ron said, "Don't worry, Hermione. We still have over four months to study for the O.W.L.'s."  
  
"I wouldn't brush it off like that, Ron," cautioned Hagrid. "Four months goes by fast. The O.W.L.'s test everything you've learned in your five years at Hogwarts, and they'll be important when you're going into a career, especially as an Auror or in the Ministry."  
  
As he mentioned Aurors Hagrid's gaze dropped to Harry. Again the secret of the Order of the Phoenix was between them. Hagrid knew without being told how badly Harry wanted to be a Phoenix, just like Hagrid himself wanted. Harry's O.W.L. scores would probably be a crucial factor in the Phoenix selection process.  
  
"I think I might want to be an Auror," Ron said thoughtfully. In his head he saw himself, brilliant and feared, duelling Death Eaters and gaining worldwide recognition.  
  
"That would be such a thrilling career," Hermione said, her eyes shining. She too saw herself battling Death Eaters, using complicated spells she had read about in books to outwit her enemies.  
  
Harry only nodded. He was thinking of his parents and their last battle.  
  
Rubeus Hagrid looked at the three of them, lost in their fantasies. Their futures would be bright, were it not for the threat of perpetual darkness menaced Lord Voldemort. Hagrid absently gnawed on a Shrewbery Cake and let himself drift into a daydream in which he blasted Death Eaters with his pink umbrella and won back the honour of his name, which Rita Skeeter had blackened the year before. He would show the world that Rubeus Hagrid was as magic as any pureblood. They would all see what a half-giant wizard could do. Then Hagrid spit out his Shrewbery Cake.  
  
"Eurgh! Too much dandelion flour."  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was April. The Easter holidays had begun and, as there were no Easter festivities being hosted by the school, most students were going home to their parents.  
  
The Weasleys travelled en masse back to the Burrow. Harry was invited, but he felt it would be wrong to encroach on their family's quality time. Hermione was also heading home for a week. She and Ron felt bad for not realizing that both of them were going away, because traditionally at least one of them stayed at Hogwarts with Harry, who did not want to return to the Dursleys' and was certainly not welcome there. But Harry told them they had been his caretakers long enough, and said he would be fine.  
  
But it was hard not to feel lonely. Neville Longbottom was going home to his grandmother, Dean Thomas was taking the train to the seaside at Southampton, Seamus Finnigan was returning to Ireland, and Lavender Brown was visiting an aunt in Suffolk.  
  
Even Hagrid was taking off for a holiday in Wales. He left early on the Hogwarts Express on the first day of holidays, grinning, winking, and dropping numerous disquieting hints about Welsh Green dragons on a reserve north of Cardiff.  
  
Parvati Patil and Harry were the only Gryffindor fifth-years left at Hogwarts. Harry privately felt very anxious. It would be easy for someone to sneak in and kill him in the middle of the night, and no one would find his corpse for days.  
  
At night Harry and Parvati stayed up late playing wizard chess (Parvati usually won) or Exploding Snap (neither of them was very good at this game, so it typically ended with a lot of soot and smoke). The last night before the other students came back to Hogwarts, Parvati went to sleep over at her twin sister's dorm in Ravenclaw, and Harry went to bed early. He was wakened, however, in the middle of the night, by the sound of wood knocking to the floor and someone falling with a muffled yelp. Someone was downstairs in the common room.  
  
He tiptoed to the top of the stairs and at first, stooped to hide and peer down, but then, seeing who it was, straightened up and said, "What are you doing?"  
  
The small pajama-clad figure sitting on the floor by an overturned footstool, clutching her shin, looked up in surprise, her dark hair partially obscuring her face. "Harry?" said Niamh Giffard.  
  
"Where are you going?" Harry whispered, descending the stairs.  
  
"I had a vision," Niamh said, standing and moving towards him. "It was Hagrid."  
  
Harry's stomach lurched. "What about Hagrid?"  
  
"He was afire!" She threw both hands above her head to illustrate an aura of flames. "Pain... and fire, everywhere, burning him. I want to tell Professor McGonagall."  
  
"But the board of trustees will have you expelled," said Harry, shocked.  
  
Niamh bit her lip. "Yes."  
  
"It was just a bad dream," Harry pleaded. Certainly he himself worried about Hagrid, and he often had horrific dreams of his own, but his nightmares stemmed from an ancient magic bond that was unique in the entire world. Niamh's dreams could not possibly be reality, like his were. And he didn't want Niamh expelled for having frightened other students, which was what she was doing to him. "It was your imagination."  
  
"It was a vision!" Niamh insisted. "I know it was!"  
  
"Hagrid is fine," Harry said, but even as he spoke the words he doubted them. Hadn't Hagrid himself been mentioning that Welsh Green dragon colony for weeks before he'd left? Still, Hagrid had sent a letter the day before yesterday, saying he was enjoying himself and would be back at Hogwarts the same day as Ron and Hermione. The likelihood of his being in danger was low, wasn't it? "He'll be back tomorrow morning, Niamh."  
  
"But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if he wasn't!" cried Niamh.  
  
There was a thump from the prefects' dormitory and a groggy, "Who's there? What's that shouting?"  
  
"Niamh, it was just a dream," implored Harry, backing up the staircase. "Come on."  
  
Footsteps, as a bleary-eyed prefect stumbled down the hall. Niamh made her decision and ran for the stairs after Harry.  
  
Very early the next morning the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station. Harry was wakened by Ron jumping on his bed, bursting with news of the Weasley family. Hermione joined them in the Entrance Hall, and they talked excitedly over breakfast.  
  
"Bill's been given a promotion, he's assistant executive of his department now," said Ron. "And Percy's finally moved out of the Burrow, he's sharing a flat in London with another Ministry aide. And Charlie got stuck by a dragon with Horntongue, he came home with a scar the size of Ireland..."  
  
The post owls flooded the air overhead and a tawny owl delivered a Daily Prophet to Hermione as she told Harry that her parents' dentistry practice was successful and had even expanded.  
  
"It's nice to know at least someone is doing their part to fight cavities," Harry joked.  
  
Hermione giggled as she unfolded her newspaper, then screamed out loud and fainted.  
  
Ron and Harry jumped up and leaned over the table in alarm. Hermione lay on the floor, eyes closed, the paper still lying in her open hand. Then someone else screamed, and George Weasley, reading his own newspaper, gave a yell that alerted the entire school to the source of the anguish.  
  
"Hagrid's been in an accident!"  
  
Harry and Ron froze, staring at each other. Then they both leaped over the table at once and grabbed for Hermione's Daily Prophet, on the front of which was a large old photo of smiling Hagrid. Lying on the tabletop, a plate of sausages soaking the front of his robes, Harry held the newspaper with Ron and read, with a coldness growing in the pit of his stomach, the article splashed across the front page.  
  
'HOGWARTS GAMEKEEPER INJURED IN FIERY DISASTER  
  
At nine-twenty-five yesterday evening, an Engorged stretcher was pushed into the Emergency Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. On the stretcher, being tended even in transit by frantic mediwizards, was one Rubeus Hagrid, half-giant and groundskeeper of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hagrid was severly burned from an encounter with a full-grown Common Welsh Green dragon.  
  
Hagrid had been holidaying for a week in Wales, staying at the wizard inn Myrddin Manor in Cardiff for Hogwarts' Easter break. Yesterday was to be the last day before the half-giant, whose tragic history was reported by the Daily Prophet's Rita Skeeter in the May -- edition, returned to Hogwarts. Myrrddin Manor's innkeeper, Dewi Gwartney-Jones, stated that Hagrid told him early yesterday afternoon that he had saved the best part of his holiday for last, his "seein' the dragons in the colony up north."  
  
Gwartney-Jones expressed surprise at Hagrid's apparent enthusiasm for dragons, for whom a reserve was founded in 1794 in the Brecon Beacons, a mountainous area that is the creatures' natural home but also happens to be a popular tourist site for Muggles.  
  
Hagrid left the hotel 20 minutes after 1:00 p.m., "grinning and beaming as if Halloween, Christmas and his birthday were all come at once," says Gwartney-Jones. Hagrid apparated from the hotel to the entrance of Penrhadw Farm, the reserve for dragons of the Common Welsh Green variety. Penrhadw Farm is known in the Muggle community as a sheep farm; what Muggles do not know is that the sheep are food for the dragons. At Penrhadw Farm, visitors are, like the dragons themselves, free to wander the open grounds as they wish, provided they do not come within one hundred yards of a dragon or dragon's nest.  
  
Hagrid entered Penrhadw Farm at 1:30 p.m. and roamed the reserve alone, observing the dragons and watching in particular the largest specimen at the farm, a 50-year-old female named Rigantona. According to witnesses, Hagrid stooped on the path near Rigantona's nest to retrieve an egg that had fallen and rolled away from the nest unnoticed, saying "I'll jus' put this little one back". When the mother dragon saw her egg in his hands, however, she became enraged, believing Hagrid was trying to steal the egg. She descended on him in splenetic wrath, allegedly firing fifteen-foot columns of fire at Hagrid.  
  
By the time Rigantona could be subdued and Hagrid rescued, the giant had sustained horrific burns covering some 75% of his considerable structure. He was transported to St. Mungo's as fast as possible, where surgeons operated on the giant all night. The extent of his injuries has not been made public, but in the opinion of an anonymous source inside St. Mungo's, Hagrid "was burned up pretty bad" and has "a distinct chance of losing his life."  
  
Could this disaster have been prevented? "Extenuating circumstances must be accounted for," says Penrhadw Farm owner Blodwen Bobbett.'  
  
Harry couldn't read any more. He slowly slid back onto his chair. He could not see or hear anything. Everything was blurred like in ancient dredged-up memories. Hermione had been roused by Alicia Spinnet and was crying on her shoulder. Ron continued to lie across the table as if dazed.  
  
The click of a door opening reached Harry's ears, muted like underwater sounds. He looked up and saw Albus Dumbledore unobtrusively moving into the Great Hall from the door behind the teachers' table. As soon as he entered everyone stood up, waving their newspapers and clamouring for an explanation. Dumbledore gained his normal place at the table and held up his hands for silence.  
  
"Please be calm. I too have only just received the news of Rubeus Hagrid's accident. He personally dictated the message, which means the injuries cannot have been too adverse. He writes to say not to believe the Daily Prophet because the surgery was successful and though he is in pain, he is healing well. He apologizes for the delay of his return.  
  
"If you would like further information, please speak to me and I can contact Hagrid at St. Mungo's Hospital for you."  
  
The formerly excited atmosphere in the Great Hall was now subdued and hushed, as if the ailing Hagrid were present, listening. Only the obstreperous Slytherins carried on like normal, shouting boisterously, deliberately raucous to disrupt the others' anguish. Harry wanted to hex them for their disrespect.  
  
In Charms, the last class of the day, Professor Flitwick handed Harry a folded note. "To Harry, Ron, and Hermione: Please come to my office after classes. -Professor Dumbledore."  
  
After Charms, the three made their way to Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle saw them coming and stepped aside. The moving staircase transported them up to the great oak doors of Dumbledore's office, and Ron knocked.  
  
"Come in," called the Headmaster, and they entered. Dumbledore was standing by the open window, an owl perched on his shoulder. "Good afternoon," he said, and sympathetically, "How are you?"  
  
"Fine," said Hermione in a small voice. Earlier Madam Pince had treated the lump from when she had hit her head, fainting.  
  
Dumbledore smiled at her. "You look greatly distressed."  
  
"Hagrid is our friend," said Harry listlessly. He had had a numbness on his heart the entire day, preventing him from feeling any emotion whatsoever.  
  
"I understand - Hagrid is a good friend to all of us, and it's always hard to have a friend go under the surgeon's wand. But Hagrid said himself that he is on the road to recovery, and that he would like to have his closest friends by his side."  
  
Ron jumped. "We can go see him?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Saturday, if you like. Hagrid only awaits your answer."  
  
"Tell him yes!" Harry said, feeling the coldness begin slipping off his heart in his growing excitement.  
  
Dumbledore held out a parchment and quill. "You tell him."  
  
Five minutes later the eagle owl from St. Mungo's Hospital departed with a missive scrawled in three handwritings, expressing their eagerness to see Hagrid again, and Harry, Ron and Hermione ran back to Gryffindor Tower, elated by the prospect of their upcoming journey. 


	51. St Mungo's Hospital and The Longbottoms

Late Friday night Ron, Harry, and Hermione went to Hogsmeade to catch a late bus to St. Mungo's Hospital. Professor McGonagall accompanied them to Hogsmeade to see them off.  
  
"How exactly are we getting there?" Hermione asked Professor McGonagall.  
  
"I booked you each a seat on the Knight Bus," said Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Oh no," said Harry, and as if on cue the bright purple, triple-decker bus screeched round a house and halted in front of them, the left front tyre stopping a mere two inches away from Harry's foot.  
  
The door swung open and the driver, an elderly wizard in a purple uniform, peered at them from behind thick glasses. "Is this the stop, Stan?" he said to the conductor, who stepped out of the bus with a clipboard.  
  
"Midnight, Hogsmeade," said the conductor, a purple-uniformed young man with large ears and terrible acne that had not improved since Harry had last seen him two years before. "How do you do?" he said to Professor McGonagall in a dignified voice. "My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."  
  
"I reserved three fares to St. Mungo's Hospital," said Professor McGonagall.  
  
" 'Course we remember, Professor McGonagall, three prepaid seats to St. Mungo's," said Stan, bowing ostentatiously. Then he caught sight of Harry, who wished he knew how to Apparate. "Bless my 'eart, Ern! 'Arry Potter's back on our very own bus!"  
  
"Where?" said Ernie Prang, the driver, craning his neck. "No lad, that's Neville Longbottom."  
  
Stan lost his professional demeanour and accent when he got excited. "No, 'e's 'Arry Potter, dontch'oo remember 'im from a couple years back-"  
  
"I believe the schedule said the bus would depart at midnight, not at twelve-thirty due to a delay for gossiping about the passengers," Professor McGonagall said frostily.  
  
"Terrible sorry, Professor," said Stan, bowing again and motioning to Harry, Ron and Hermione to enter. "No luggage?" They had only their schoolbags, filled not with schoolwork for the journey, as Professor McGonagall thought, but with sweets and food for Hagrid, because Ron had heard from his brother Charlie that hospital food was indigestible. "Right, we're off!"  
  
Ron and Hermione had never been on the Knight Bus, but they were able to fall asleep quickly on their beds at the front of the bus. Harry, however, could feel Stan's gaze practically boring into him every time he closed his eyes, and finally gave up to talk with Stan and Ern.  
  
"Seen the giant in the paper, 'Arry?" Stan said, brandishing the Daily Prophet with Hagrid's face plastered across the front. "Gamekeeper atcher school, wasn' 'e?"  
  
"He still is," Harry said. "He's not dead."  
  
"Paper said he was dying," said Ern, swerving to avoid a barn. Harry noted that his driving skills seemed to actually have gotten worse.  
  
"That's where we're going tonight," Harry said. "To see him at St. Mungo's."  
  
"Oh, St. Mungo's," Stan nodded knowledgeably. "I went there after a garden gnome gave me a nasty bite. Ordinary sort of place, innit?" Harry was surprised by the word "ordinary", which was rarely used for magical things, but Stan went on, not noticing his confusion. " 'Ow come 'e was pokin' round that dragon colony, anyway? Is 'e mad?"  
  
"He's not mad, he just likes dragons," said Harry, and then clutched the brass bedframe as the bus shot through Stockton-on-Tees.  
  
"That sounds mad," said Stan dubiously.  
  
"Ain't Madam Taggart getting off at Yarm?" Ern asked Stan.  
  
"I'll get 'er," Stan said, disappearing up the wooden staircase to the third floor and returning with a small witch who stumbled to the front of the bus, grumbling about "that madman behind the wheel."  
  
"Here we are," said Ern, oblivious to her invective, stomping on the brake to abruptly halt the bus. The witch cast Ern a dark look before getting out.  
  
Four stops later, Harry dozed off. He didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until Stan prodded him some hours later and said, "Oy, 'Arry Potter, this 'ere's your stop, innit?"  
  
Harry raised his head and nearly tumbled over the side of his bed as the bus squealed to a stop. Hermione and Ron were sitting up in bed, rubbing their eyes. Sunlight streamed through the windows of the bus, and Harry, who had slept with his glasses on, could see a sign in front of the bus saying ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES.  
  
"Thanks," Harry, Ron and Hermione said to Stan and Ern as they stepped off the bus.  
  
"Pleasure talking to you," Stan said eagerly, eyeing Harry's scar, and couldn't help adding, "You're a hero."  
  
"Hope to see you again," said Ern, squinting at them through the thick lenses. Harry thought this was a strange choice of words, as Ernie probably could never see much at all, but Harry smiled and nodded as the doors shut and the bus raced off, scattering houses and telephone boxes.  
  
"Two more for the Harry Potter Fan Club," Ron grinned.  
  
"That driver really was terrible behind the wheel," said Hermione faintly, clutching her stomach. "I don't suppose they might have nausea cures here?"  
  
Harry laughed. "At a hospital? Probably not." They stared at the hospital, a tall brick building that looked surprisingly Muggle-like in its modern mundanity. Harry could now see what Stan had meant when he'd said "ordinary sort of place." St. Mungo's would have looked normal even to Vernon Dursley's suspicious eye.  
  
"It doesn't look very magic," Ron remarked after a moment. "If it weren't for the sign over there saying 'BROOMS WILL BE TOWED AFTER 2 HOURS,' I'd think this was a regular Muggle hospital."  
  
"Let's go in and see if they have Hagrid," Hermione said. "And stomach medicine."  
  
Thankfully, the elderly woman behind the reception desk, surrounded by rolls and rolls of parchment heaped on in-out trays, was clearly a witch. She was using her wand to enchant a quill that danced an illegible scrawl across an appointment book, while she knitted with three pairs of needles at once. Dressed in slightly garish fuchsia robes, looking bored, she peered at them from behind silver half-moon glasses and didn't stop knitting as they entered.  
  
"Is this St. Mungo's Hospital?" Harry asked her.  
  
"That's what the sign says," replied the witch. "It's built like a Muggle building because to their eyes the sign reads ST. MATTHEW'S INSTITUTION FOR LEGALLY DERANGED FELONS. It's quite brilliant. The Muggles think it's an insane asylum, which to them explains the people who walk round here in long robes, shouting strange words and waving bits of wood, and they think the patients are convicted criminals, which scares them away." She shook her head. "Silly people, Muggles. We have to make up so many ridiculous things just so they won't come near."  
  
"We'd like to see Rubeus Hagrid," said Ron. Harry felt dizzy, watching the three pairs of knitting needles going all at once.  
  
She glanced at a chart on her desk. "The giant fellow? Room 903 in the burn recovery ward. That's in the Dr. Faustus Figg Memorial Ward, ninth floor, second door on the left. Stairs are down the hall to your right."  
  
"Can you give me a cure for nausea?" Hermione asked the receptionist.  
  
"Took the Knight Bus here, did you?" guessed the elderly witch. She Summoned a box from another room and handed a pink capsule to Hermione. "Take this with a glass of water," she said curtly, seeming impatient to devote her full attention to her knitting.  
  
They walked down the hall to the spiral stairs, which moved by themselves, like the ones going up to Dumbledore's office. "Did you hear the name of the burn recovery ward?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry nodded. "Dr. Faustus Figg Memorial Ward. Professor Figg's husband. He was head of the hospital when he died."  
  
They rode the moving spiral staircase to the ninth floor. R. Hagrid, said the nameplate by the second door on the left. Harry knocked.  
  
"Come in," said the familiar voice of Hagrid.  
  
Harry opened the door. Hagrid lay in a gigantic bed, swaddled in gauze bandages. His red, blistered face, framed by white gauze strips, split into a grin when he saw them. His arms were both bound in plaster casts and suspended in the air by a complex system of strings and pulleys that squeaked when he tried pathetically to wave.  
  
"It's you!" he said happily. "Come in, come in!"  
  
For a moment they were frozen, overcome by shock. Swathed in white bandages and white bedsheets, Hagrid looked like a huge mummy. But that wasn't what troubled him most. Hagrid dwarfed everything in the room, but he seemed small. It was the huge beard - or lack thereof. Hagrid's scalp had retained a few sparse tufts of hair, but the beard had been ravaged. Harry stared, shaken by how different Hagrid looked.  
  
"Hagrid-" whispered Hermione, sounding choked. She rushed suddenly at Hagrid, who enveloped her in his bandaged arms.  
  
"Careful, that's still sore, Hermione," grunted Hagrid, touching his ribs and grimacing. He smiled at Harry and Ron. "Come on in."  
  
They slowly walked to Hagrid's bedside. "Hagrid," Ron said weakly, "where's your beard?"  
  
"Gone up in flames," said Hagrid sadly. "At least I didn't lose me chin as well. Ah well, it'll grow back, won't it?" He tried to put on a brave smile. "I hope my bein' in the hospital didn't ruin yer first week at school after the holidays."  
  
"We were horribly worried," Hermione said. "We were wondering where you were that morning."  
  
"The Daily Prophet came before Dumbledore got your message," Harry said, holding up the newspaper, which Stan had given him.  
  
Hagrid chuckled weakly. "They got some of it right this time. Last time I was in this newspaper, that Rita Skeeter completely ripped me up."  
  
Harry and Ron grinned at Hermione, who had punished Rita Skeeter for her libellous quill by trapping her for several days in a small jar. Hermione said to Hagrid, "I don't suppose this experience will put you off dragons, will it?"  
  
"If anything I like 'em more!" cried Hagrid, brightening.  
  
"But a dragon nearly killed you!" said Ron disbelievingly.  
  
"She was only protectin' her little 'un," Hagrid said. "To her I was an enemy, trying to steal an egg."  
  
Now there was an uncomfortable pause where all three exchanged glances over Hagrid's head. Hagrid had brought up the issue which had not been discussed between the three, but which had been running through their minds the entire week. "Hagrid," Harry asked carefully, "you weren't really trying to steal the egg, were you?"  
  
"Why would I do that?" said Hagrid, suddenly guarded.  
  
"Come on Hagrid, we remember Norbert just as well as you do," said Ron. "Tell the truth! Did you really find the Welsh Green egg on the path, or were you sneaking up to the nest to capture a Norbert II?"  
  
Hagrid was avoiding their eyes. "Well."  
  
"Hagrid!" cried Hermione in dismay. "That's illegal!"  
  
"I wasn't going to take the eggs!" protested Hagrid quickly. "I just wanted to look at 'em, touch 'em maybe. I miss Norbert, but I wasn't going to take the egg, really. Jus' hold it in my hand like I used to with baby Norbert's." He looked downcast. The three of them looked at each other.  
  
"We believe you, Hagrid," Harry said at last. "We were just worried about you getting in trouble."  
  
"In the past week I've been punished enough for a lifetime," said Hagrid, shuddering. "I've never been here before, but I don't think I'll be able to last much longer. It's not the burns," he said hastily, "it's just that the food's rubbish."  
  
Harry remembered the food crammed into their schoolbags, and they took it out and piled it on the bedside table. Hagrid was grateful. "I could hardly swallow it down, those nasty jellies and tough meats. St. Mungo's doesn't have house-elves, I guess."  
  
"That's a good thing!" Hermione said.  
  
"Not for my stomach," Hagrid said feelingly, eating a peppermint humbug. "What I wouldn't do for a good squirrel pot pie... You didn't happen to bring any mulled mead, did you? I didn't think so. I'll have to bribe the nurse to sneak me in a pint."  
  
A stout little wizard with a big white mustache and one arm in a sling poked his head round the door. "Hagrid, want to play croquet? Oh, sorry, didn't know you had guests."  
  
"How can he play croquet?" Ron asked the wizard in surprise. "He can't go outside."  
  
"I bring the outdoors to him!" the wizard answered happily, and demonstrated by turning the floor into a grassy wicket-adorned turf.  
  
"Harry, Hermione, Ron, this is Algie," said Hagrid.  
  
"Oh, they're from Hogwarts!" exclaimed Algie, noticing their uniforms. "How lovely. I have a great-grandnephew there, Neville? Perhaps you know him. I say, you wouldn't be Harry Potter, would you?" he said suddenly. "Why, of course you are, there's the scar right there! And you must be Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Neville talks about you three all the time. Especially you," he added to Hermione, who turned pink.  
  
"I can't play today, Algie," Hagrid said. "Come back tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow we're having a farewell party for Aberforth Dumbledore, Hagrid, have you forgotten? His tail has nearly disappeared by now. He's getting discharged day after tomorrow."  
  
"Aberforth Dumbledore!" Hermione, Harry and Ron exclaimed at the same time.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore's brother," said Hagrid.  
  
"I'd bring Aberforth round to meet you three, but he's seeing doctors all day," Algie said. "He got in an argument with Daedalus Diggle and ended up with a big beaver's tail. And he was the winner!" Algie hooted with mirth. "I tell you, that bloke Diggle's quite a sight with a goat head on an ostrich neck. He needs a three-foot-long brace just to keep his head from falling off!"  
  
"Now that I'd like to see," Ron said.  
  
"You're Neville Longbottom's great uncle?" Harry said to Algie, his curiosity finally overwhelming him. "Are you related to his dad Frank, the Auror?"  
  
"Harry!" Hagrid rebuked him.  
  
"It's all right, Hagrid, I'm proud to be Frank's uncle," Algie said. "Why do you ask?" he said to Harry, adopting a somewhat defiant posture.  
  
"I was just curious," Harry said, feeling embarrassed now that tact had caught up with him.  
  
Algie looked at him with sympathy. "Neville's parents were friends of your parents, if I recall correctly. Would you like to meet them? They won't know you, of course, but they like having visitors, I think."  
  
"We'd like to visit them," Hermione said. "Is that all right with you, Hagrid?"  
  
Just then a nurse appeared in the doorway holding a cup of little coloured pills. "Medication time, Hagrid!" the nurse said cheerily. Hagrid groaned and clamped his jaws shut. "Open up, Hagrid," ordered the nurse. "You must take your pills."  
  
"We'll be back soon," Ron said, grinning as they went out, while Hagrid struggled with the nurse.  
  
The Longbottoms' room was four floors down, in the Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa Ward For the Mentally Unwell. Room 224 had a plaque on the door engraved "F. & L. Longbottom."  
  
Algie rapped gently on the door with his good hand and then turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "You no doubt have heard or read about what happened to Neville's parents."  
  
"Neville told us," said Harry.  
  
"They do not recognize anyone they used to know before- before *it* happened. After- it, Frank and Louisa were subjected to numerous powerful Memory Charms. They forgot everything and everyone they had known. Even now, years later, the effects of the Memory Charms last. They both have very short-term memories."  
  
The door opened and Algie turned to face a petite, attractive witch with hazel eyes and freckles like Neville's. "Yes?" she said coolly, almost indifferently. "May I help you? My husband is not in."  
  
"Good morning, Louisa," Algie said in a friendly voice, perhaps immune to the sting of this distant reception. "I'm Algie. Do you remember me?"  
  
Louisa Longbottom frowned slowly. "I'm afraid not."  
  
"May we come in?" asked Algie, then fairly pushed his way in. "You look lovely today, Louisa."  
  
"Thank you," Louisa said vaguely, and she suddenly seized Ron's arm as he followed Algie into the room. She stared hard at him. "Er," said Ron nervously.  
  
"I've seen this face before," Louisa murmured. She released him suddenly and rushed to a chest of drawers by the side of the modestly furnished room. She removed a handful of photographs from the top drawer and shuffled through them, then held out one photo to Ron. "Tell me, please- is this you?"  
  
It was one of Colin Creevey's moving photos, a picture of Ron and Neville playing wizard chess. Ron nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, that's me."  
  
Louisa's face lit up. "I remembered! I remembered something!"  
  
"Very good, Louisa!" cried Algie. "This is Ron Weasley, and here are Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."  
  
"How do you do," Louisa said cordially, motioning them to sit in the mismatched armchairs that furnished the Longbottoms' living room. "My husband will be in soon."  
  
"Do you remember your friends Lily and James Potter?" prompted Algie. "Harry here is their son."  
  
Louisa squinted thoughtfully. "No, I don't believe I know those names."  
  
"It's all right," Harry said, trying to hide his disappointment. He had hoped that the sight of his face, so often likened by others to James Potter's, might jog her memory.  
  
The door opened and a well-built man with greying brown hair entered, and stopped at the sight of the visitors. "Good morning?" he said questioningly as they all rose hurriedly.  
  
"Frank, it's me, your Uncle Algie," Algie said.  
  
"Yes," said Frank Longbottom agreeably.  
  
Algie sighed. Apparently he was not so unaffected by his relations' detachment as Harry had first thought. "Frank, please meet Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. They are friends of Neville's. Your son," he added.  
  
"My son?" Frank echoed. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances. How terrible for Neville, to have to suffer this pain and humiliation every time he visited his parents.  
  
Suddenly Frank was staring at Harry. "Your eyes are very green... Have I seen you before?"  
  
"No," said Harry, his pulse quickening. "Are you thinking of my mother Lily?"  
  
"You do have her eyes," Hermione said excitedly, "everyone says so."  
  
Frank's brow furrowed as he strove to remember. "I've seen your eyes somewhere!"  
  
"Photographs?" suggested Louisa, holding out the stack of wizard pictures.  
  
"No! Not photographs!" cried Frank.  
  
He was shaking. The doctors assumed that, having no long-term memory, the Longbottoms could not remember that they had no long-term memory, and hence would not be bothered by the fact. But that was the only thing Frank knew for certain. Louisa was the sole constant in his life that Frank could keep track of. Names, faces escaped him like water through a sieve; locations and orientation he barely managed to retain.  
  
But Frank still knew some things- like what anguish looked like. He saw it all the time on the faces of visitors. The boy they said was his son, whose childhood Frank had completely missed, could not stay in Frank's mind. "Neville," the nurses said to him, "his name is Neville, he's sixteen years old," and all Frank could think each time was, my God, I have a son?  
  
Louisa was marginally better at remembering people from their past, but at least she was making her slow progress, becoming more adept at recalling things that she had seen recently, which Frank forgot mere hours after they occurred.  
  
But Frank wanted badly to remember. Everything was stored at the very back of his head, barricaded behind a brick wall that protected him from his own memories. It had not been his or Louisa's choice to undergo the Memory Charms. Whenever Frank saw the pain on the boy's face (his name, what is his name? he'd be thinking frantically), he wondered if it would have been better if he and Louisa had died all those years ago. Better to have this boy, this alleged son of his, endure grief once and get over it, rather than go through it again and again.  
  
And now this other boy, this child with gleaming green eyes, had appeared, and a tiny crack had fractured the brick wall that guarded his memories. It was only the tiniest fissure- but through it came a whisper of recollection.  
  
Frank was locked in a battle of wits with himself. "Green eyes!" he shouted, and the boy, whose name had already escaped Frank, took a step back in surprise, and Frank could feel the fissure closing up.  
  
He stumbled to a chair, quivering. The ghost of the memory was gone. "Can't remember," he muttered. Louisa fluttered to his side.  
  
"It's all right, darling, it will come someday," she said, soothing and sweet.  
  
"I want to remember now," Frank said, petulantly childish.  
  
"You're making progress, Frank," Algie said reassuringly, patting Neville's father on the shoulder.  
  
Frank looked up at Algie and his visitors in astonishment. "Who are you?"  
  
Algie did not react, only stared at Frank sadly. Then he said to Hermione, Harry and Ron, "Perhaps we'd best be getting back to Hagrid." He ushered them towards the door.  
  
"It was nice to meet you," Harry said to Louisa Longbottom, who gazed at him in silence.  
  
"Was it?" Frank asked in surprise.  
  
Hagrid was reading a letter when they got back to Room 903. He smiled at them benevolently and waved the letter. "It's from Professor Figg, askin' how I'm doing and whether you three got here in one piece." He saw the looks on their faces and his smile faded. "Not a good visit with the Longbottoms?"  
  
"Quite typical actually," said Algie. "You can't stay more than ten minutes with them before they forget why you're there."  
  
"At least we got to meet them," Ron said uncertainly, and brightened. "And Neville's mum remembered my face from a photo."  
  
"Frank nearly remembered Lily Potter," Algie told Hagrid excitedly. "The green eyes very nearly set him off."  
  
Harry was still shaken from Frank Longbottom's fierce response to seeing his face. Hagrid grinned at him, and Harry was comforted, though Hagrid's smile was slightly off-centre because of the tightened, burned skin.  
  
"Harry, yeh should be proud! I haven't heard of Frank Longbottom reactin' to anything for many, many years. He probably does remember your mum an' dad somewhere at the back of his head, but if he remembers them he'll have to remember everything else that happened to him. And that would be a very bad thing."  
  
They spent the rest of the morning talking and playing wizard games with bedridden Hagrid. In the afternoon they persuaded the nurse to let them magick Hagrid's bed out into the courtyard, and took him to watch a lawn bowling tournament among the patients. Daedalus Diggle was playing, and he was indeed quite a sight with his head towering above everyone else. Most of the players furtively used their wands to cheat by conjuring extraneous obstacles onto the Green. (There was no clear winner, and Daedalus Diggle cursed someone's right ear off.)  
  
As the day wore on, Hagrid became dispirited. "I want to go back to Hogwarts."  
  
"You can't," Hermione said. "You need to stay here at St. Mungo's until you're well."  
  
"Who's teaching Care of Magical Creatures?" Hagrid asked.  
  
"Professor Grubbly-Plank," said Harry. "She's all right, but she never brings us Mackled Malaclaws or Firecrabs, only boring tame beasts like Mokes and Jobberknolls."  
  
Hagrid snorted. "Jobberknolls, pah! Those don' even have poison fangs!"  
  
"Everyone misses you, Hagrid," Hermione said, "but we want you to recuperate before you come back."  
  
"And no more poking round dragons' nests," Ron added sternly.  
  
Hagrid solemnly held up his bandaged right hand with a pathetic squeaking of pulleys. "I promise I will get well as fast as I can to save yeh from the boring Jobberknolls." 


	52. Cornelius Fudge

One night Harry dreamt of a cold dark room.  
  
It was not the same as the stone chamber he had envisioned before. This room had soft earthen walls and floor. Iron rings with wrist and ankle shackles hung were magically fixed to the walls. A shadowy friend pulled Harry by the arm and pointed to the farthest wall, where two slumped forms had been chained up. Harry ran to them, leaving footsteps among the undulating S-shaped tracks sunk into the soft soil, and touched one of the shapes: a boy, lying prone. Harry turned him over- and found himself staring into his own face, ghost-white, lividly bruised and serene as the dead.  
  
Harry woke up in a cold sweat. He yanked back his bed hangings. The dorm was tranquil; the others boys were still asleep. As if called, Tibbles II pattered up the stairs into the room and leaped on Harry's bed, and lay in his lap, purring soothingly.  
  
Harry carried Tibbles to the window. It was drizzling outside, but the grounds were peaceful and still. Overhead, the moon was a watery white scimitar that dimly lit the wet grassy fields, and Hagrid's hut, where Harry knew the bloodhound Fang slept under the table, and Sirius'- Harry's- motorbike leaned against the wall by Hagrid's bed. The Quidditch stadium was damp and empty. There were no evil estranged witches flying on stolen broomsticks over the pitch.  
  
Then movement disturbed the peaceful scene. Harry's window afforded him a view of the road leading from Hogsmeade to the school's gates, and he now saw a figure making his way up the muddy road. The figure moved slowly, limping, weak. Heart beating fast, Harry dug out his Omnioculars and focussed on the figure's face. A Death Eater, come to finish him off? Not this time- Harry saw, astonishingly, that it was Severus Snape limping wearily up the road. He had one arm clutched to his stomach, and pain contorted his face.  
  
Harry was about to run for Dumbledore when he saw someone else coming down the road, but from the school's front doors. Two witches, huddled under an umbrella, hurried to meet Snape on the road. Harry watched as they reached him and took him under the umbrella, which expanded to shelter all three. They turned towards the castle and Harry saw Professor Figg and Perdita Clemens flanking Snape, holding him up. The little group hastened through the rain to the castle and went in through the front doors, and left Harry's sight lines. Harry put down the Omnioculars. What could this mean?  
  
* * * * *  
  
Minerva McGonagall met them in the Entrance Hall. "Come into the Great Hall," she said anxiously, throwing a blanket round Severus Snape's shoulders.  
  
They installed him on a bench at the Ravenclaw table and gave him a mug of hot Butterbeer. He drained it in one gulp and immediately asked for something stronger. Bella Figg filled his mug with Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and asked, "What happened?"  
  
Snape's teeth were chattering. "He c-c-can fly..." he whispered.  
  
The three witches exchanged glances. "What do you mean?" said Perdita.  
  
"Fly!" cried Snape, flailing his arms madly. "Fly! Without brooms, without spells..."  
  
"Wandless magic?" Minerva said, stunned.  
  
Snape nodded. "He's been p-p-practising in the daytime- showed the others- not me-"  
  
"Voldemort's been practising wandless magic," Bella said slowly. "Probably realizes he can't beat Harry Potter in a wizarding duel with wands, so he's making sure he knows how to cheat..."  
  
"Where did the meeting take place?" Minerva asked Snape.  
  
Snape had closed his eyes and was slumped under the blanket. "I don't know where I was."  
  
"London?" Perdita suggested.  
  
"Don't know," repeated Snape, opening his eyes. "It was dark. They were all round me, closing in... suddenly they all leaped into the air and hovered above me... they told me he was getting more and more powerful by the minute, and their attack could come any day now... Suddenly a light appeared behind them and they all vanished into it."  
  
"Was it daylight through the door?" suggested Minerva.  
  
"No... pale light, soft blue light. Like a blue cloud... They simply stepped in and disappeared."  
  
He was shivering. Bella poured him more whiskey. "What else did he say? Why did they torture you?"  
  
"He-" Snape stopped suddenly. He had been tortured because he had had too little information on Albus Dumbledore to give to Voldemort. They had surrounded him and pinned him down, questioned him harshly, and he had told them what he knew: that Dumbledore allowed Potter much more freedom than the other students, that he prized Harry Potter above all the others. But it was not enough to satisfy them.  
  
"This is not information!" Lucius Malfoy had spat. "My wretched son writes that to me every week! What's his real weakness, Snape?"  
  
"I don't know," Snape had pleaded.  
  
"You do," a dusky witch called Emily had purred. "You must know, Snape."  
  
"Yes, Severus, you must," murmured Maldora Lestrange, her beautiful icy eyes threatening.  
  
Snape did not know, and he continued to say so, but it took a long time to convince them. Voldemort finally released him, with a warning: he wanted to know Dumbledore's greatest weakness- soon. If Snape didn't have information by the next meeting, Voldemort would be very, very angry.  
  
But he couldn't tell this to the Phoenixes. Voldemort would have him put to death.  
  
"They tortured me because they want me to take a more active part in their nocturnal dealings," he said. "Voldemort needs all the supporters he can rally."  
  
This seemed to satisfy Bella and Perdita- but Minerva McGonagall's eye twitched skeptically. Snape closed his eyes again. At least by staying silent he had a few more weeks to live. He would never give up Dumbledore if he could help it. He would have to avoid the old wizard for the rest of his short life. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to stay alive at all.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The next morning Professor Snape assigned a complicated Memory Potion to his class of fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. It would be good practice for the O.W.L. exams, Snape said, meaning that Memory Potions would probably be one of the potions required for the O.W.L. Potions practical exam. Only a few pairs managed to complete it successfully, and in the process suddenly remembered where they had left those various belongings they had lost years before.  
  
"Of course, I must have dropped that sock behind the radiator six years ago," Harry said to Ron. "So that's where that went."  
  
"And I've just remembered that Bill stuck his finger in the cake icing on Percy's ninth birthday," Ron said.  
  
Draco Malfoy added too much tripinnate nephrolepis, causing his cauldron to boil over and forcing him to start again. He strode to the back of the class to refill his cauldron with cold water from the marble basin behind Harry and Ron, who were chopping zingiber roots to neutralize the Memory Potion.  
  
"Out of my way, Scarhead," Malfoy muttered, squeezing past them to get to the water basin.  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, turning to glower at Malfoy; but his knife slipped as he looked away from his work, and he sliced a deep wound across his thumb. Blood gushed painfully all over his cutting board.  
  
Ron jumped back. "Careful, Harry!" He hurried away to get a rag.  
  
Harry pressed on the gash to stem the flow. Then he looked up at Malfoy. The Slytherin was staring at his wounded hand, mesmerized by the pooling blood on the cutting board- and there was a gleam in his eyes that Harry didn't like.  
  
He slowly turned so his bleeding hand was shielded from Malfoy's hungry gaze. The trance was broken. Malfoy looked up suddenly at Harry's face.  
  
For one single moment there was a kind of fear in the pale eyes, and Harry came to understand, in the split second that the fear existed, that Draco Malfoy had no idea that his ancestors were part vampire. His parents must always have known, but they hadn't told their son.  
  
More secrets to keep, Harry thought, and then the fear vanished and Draco was back to his supercilious self.  
  
"Better be careful, Scarhead," he sneered with his customary smirk. "The potion doesn't call for a pint of human blood."  
  
He swaggered away, and Harry had to struggle to restrain himself from asking whether vampire recipes required that ingredient. Revenge will come in time, he thought to himself.  
  
"What was that about?" Ron asked as he returned with a rag to clean off the blood.  
  
Harry hadn't told Ron what he knew. In fact he hadn't told anyone. He didn't feel obliged to share the secret. It had been Niamh Giffard's gift to him and he was free to keep or spread it as he wished.  
  
Ron and Hermione would find out in due time. "Nothing," he said.  
  
* * * * *  
  
May began to loom menacingly before the Hogwarts fifth-years, most of whom felt they hadn't been studying adequately for the O.W.L.'s in June. A special O.W.L. testing team would be dispatched from London to administer the exams. The O.W.L. exams were in fact the fifth-year final exams. Depending on how many courses the student took, he or she could get anywhere from five to twelve O.W.L.'s; the more O.W.L.'s a student passed, the better. Most students took eight or nine subjects in fifth year, but some, like Bill and Percy Weasley, took as many as twelve courses (the seven requisite courses plus five electives).  
  
Hermione was taking ten courses this year (having dropped Muggle Studies and Divination), and no one doubted that she could get all her O.W.L.'s. Harry and Ron were each taking nine courses, and Ron was deeply concerned about getting his O.W.L.'s.  
  
"If we don't get them all, we won't have as good a chance at becoming Aurors," Ron said worriedly.  
  
"I can help you study if you're that frightened," Hermione said, "but I really don't think they'll be too hard."  
  
"That's because you've never had a mark less than one hundred and two percent on any exams," Harry remarked. "Why are you studying so much then?"  
  
Hermione stared at him. "The O.W.L.'s are very important tests! If I don't get all of them it will narrow my range of careers when I sit the N.E.W.T.'s!"  
  
Harry wasn't as apprehensive as Ron. The summer of instruction had taught him that he could understand any topic and memorize any information if he worked hard enough. He may not be as clever as Hermione, but he was equally as determined and felt intelligent on his own terms.  
  
The teachers were used to preparing wave after wave of fifth-years for the O.W.L.'s, and remained calm as their students panicked over every triviality and demanded review lessons of the last five years of study.  
  
"What's gotten into all of you?" Professor McGonagall asked when Lavender and Parvati requested that she review Switching Spells with them. "You're all acting like Miss Granger before a chapter test! And I'll thank you not to tell her I said that."  
  
Not all the teachers were so accomodating. When they tried to beg Professor Figg to go over Blocking Spells again instead of teaching the new lesson, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher lost her temper and threatened to bring in a real banshee if they didn't keep up with her lesson plan. When they persisted, she followed through on her promise, and consequently deafened the entire school, with the banshee's shrill and painful screams ringing in their ears for several hours afterwards.  
  
Most students were dismayed to realize that while they had snoozed away the hours in Professor Binns' History of Magic class, the old ghost had in fact been spouting important information that could conceivably appear on the History exam. This hardly kept the students from their naps, however.  
  
And everyone, Harry and Hermione included, was worried about Potions. The way Professor Snape's hints were spoken, it seemed like the practical exam for the Potions O.W.L. would include brewing potions with the complexity of the elixir of life- and even Lord Voldemort would have had trouble with that.  
  
* * * * *  
  
One fine morning in May, Cornelius Fudge's vegetable patch was blown up while he was weeding the carrots. Fudge escaped with minor injuries, but his pride and tendency for blame delegation were both deeply affected.  
  
So it was that the next morning, still fairly shaken and with nearly all the pomp taken out of him, the Minister of Magic appeared on the doorstep of Hogwarts School and demanded to see Albus Dumbledore.  
  
He travelled in stealth, well disguised, fearing a more fatal attack while in transit. No one expected him, save Niamh Giffard, who quietly warned the Headmaster of the Minister's impending arrival. Therefore when the loud insistent knocking began on his office door, Dumbledore was somewhat better prepared than he ordinarily would have been, not having exchanged two words with the self-important Fudge since they had rancourously parted company eleven months ago.  
  
"Come in," sighed Dumbledore, steeling himself for the explosion.  
  
But Fudge quietly opened the door, let himself in, and shut it after him. There was no blustering, no shouting- nothing, in fact, which normally distinguished Cornelius Fudge from rational men. Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles in consternation as he leaned over the desk.  
  
"Is there something you'd like to discuss, Minister?" he enquired.  
  
"Yes," said Fudge, slumping heavily into a chair. "My personal safety."  
  
"Oh," said Dumbledore, sitting back down, disappointed. He had almost believed that Fudge perhaps about to ask for a report on what the Order of the Phoenix was doing to catch Voldemort. But no, Fudge was still inflated with the love of his position.  
  
Yet he was here, wasn't he? That was a start. "Well," began Dumbledore cautiously. "Have you accepted the fact that Voldemort is once again on the rise?" Finally come round to the side of reason, was what he wanted to say, but held it back.  
  
"Yes, yes," said Fudge. "I concede that a threat has appeared. Now I want to know what you're doing to stop him." Stop him from getting to me, was what he meant, and Dumbledore understood it and was annoyed.  
  
"We're doing everything we can," Dumbledore said flatly. "With little support from the Ministry of Magic, the Order can hardly be expected to instantly-"  
  
Fudge thumped his fist on the desk, eyes flashing. "The only reason I let you keep your bloody Order was because Arabella Figg promised me personally that you were the best of the best!"  
  
"We are!" Dumbledore responded. "But this isn't just any Dark wizard, Cornelius. This is the wizard we've been hunting for years and years, since before you became Minister of Magic. He's escaped our traps for decades, but I believe we are getting closer."  
  
"I don't want to hear you're getting closer!" Fudge thunder. "I want to hear you're closing in! I want to hear you've got him in a box under your desk! I want bloody results, don't you understand!"  
  
At least this heated argument had rejuvenated Fudge's old predictable temper, Dumbledore thought. Fudge's tantrum-born anger was easier to anticipate.  
  
"We are doing everything we can," Dumbledore said quietly, enjoying the cold, controllable rage that seethed secretly within him. "This is a delicate operation, Cornelius, surely you understand that."  
  
"A root canal is a delicate operation! This is a capture!" bellowed Fudge. "Why can't we just swoop in on him and bear him away to a prison cell somewhere?"  
  
"We don't know where he is," Dumbledore said patiently. "We're working on that."  
  
"I hope you are," Fudge snorted.  
  
"And where exactly would this prison cell be located? Certainly not Azkaban."  
  
"No!" said Fudge, horrified. "Great heavens no! Not even the Hit Wizards we placed there would be able to contain the fiend."  
  
Dumbledore refrained from reminding Fudge that it was he, Fudge, who had once had such overpowering faith in the easily swayed Dementors. Instead he asked, "Then where? Once we track down Voldemort-"  
  
"I like the confidence in that statement," interjected Fudge.  
  
"-then where will we place him?" Dumbledore went on, ignoring the interruption.  
  
"I plan to have him put to death," Fudge replied immediately.  
  
"How? You surely have not forgotten what happened the last time he was hit with a Killing Curse."  
  
Fudge paused. "Oh- yes, that's right." Dumbledore waited, trying not to smile at the Minister's discomfiture. "I- er- well- hmm," said Fudge, looking stymied. "Well- couldn't you somehow, I don't know, duel him to the death? Like you did with Grindelwald?"  
  
Dumbledore stiffened. "You know I don't like to speak of that particular encounter."  
  
"I know, I know, but you did defeat him, after all..." Fudge misjudged his opponent. Flattery, especially when conveyed in so unsubtle a vehicle, rarely managed to throw Dumbledore off track, as it did to the Minister himself.  
  
"I highly doubt the same technique would work on Voldemort, whose exploration of immortality treatments has been extensive," Dumbledore said. "And I have not duelled in many years."  
  
"Perhaps that's your problem," Fudge said triumphantly. "You're too old!"  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"You haven't enough young blood in your organization, Dumbledore," Fudge explained as if it were all quite reasonable. Dumbledore stared at him. "You must be more dynamic, more active! You should be out there looking instead of cloistering yourself in this little office all the time."  
  
"In case you have forgotten, Cornelius," Dumbledore said icily, "I am still headmaster of this institution, and I have a responsibility to my students."  
  
"Yes, you do," said Fudge, leaning forward intently. Dumbledore watched him levelly, but began to worry. "Don't think I haven't heard about what's been happening here at Hogwarts, Dumbledore."  
  
The Headmaster felt a slight tremor of anxiety, but did not let it show. "What's been happening here?" he echoed.  
  
"Don't play at that, Dumbledore. I've heard all about the tricks that frighten the children. I get angry letters nearly every week from parents whose children have written home of the going-ons here."  
  
"These parents wouldn't happen to be influenced by Lucius Malfoy, would they?" Dumbledore guessed.  
  
Fudge frowned. "Don't change the subject. You don't seem to be able to manage two tasks at once, Dumbledore. Must I make you choose between Hogwarts and the Order?"  
  
"No," Dumbledore said firmly. He was humiliated to be getting upbraided by Cornelius Fudge, of all people. "My progress is gradual but constant, Cornelius. I am slowly succeeding."  
  
"Success-" began Fudge.  
  
"Is measured by the final outcome," Dumbledore finished impatiently. "I know, Cornelius. What do you want from me then, a personal guarantee that the end products of my undertakings will be favourable?"  
  
"Yes!" said Fudge. "Firstly, I want Hogwarts' O.W.L. scores to top Beauxbatons' and Durmstrang's."  
  
"Our students have been consistent achievers for many years."  
  
"Then make it continue. If you want to keep the headship of Hogwarts, do not let this year's- events- affect the students' performance on the O.W.L.'s. And secondly, I want You-Know-Who's head on a pike."  
  
Dumbledore's nose crinkled in distaste, both of the gruesome expression and of Fudge's use of the fear-inspiring alias of Voldemort. Fudge did not notice. "I want him ruined, Dumbledore, completely and utterly defeated, so that he can never come back! For the good of the world at large," he added; but Dumbledore noticed the quaver in the Minister's voice.  
  
Am I the only wizard in the world not afraid of Voldemort? he wondered in astonishment. Aloud he said calmly, "If this is what the Ministry wishes, then I will do my best to help, Cornelius."  
  
He managed to usher the Minister of Magic out of his office without being coerced into making unrealistic promises. Then he came back to his desk and dropped wearily into his chair, and laid a hand on his wrinkled brow.  
  
Fawkes the phoenix flitted down from atop a bookcase and perched on Dumbledore's arm. The old wizard stroked the firebird's sleek head and thought again, with much shame, of how close he had come to losing his school and his Order to the pompous, capricious Fudge, so easily persuaded of opinions that could not possibly be his.  
  
Dumbledore was no fool, certainly. He had seen from a mile away the malicious influence of Lucius Malfoy behind Fudge's harsh words- more intangible evidence of Voldemort's plotting, even if no physical evidence existed. Poor, pretentious Fudge, thought Dumbledore, pitying the wizard perhaps doomed to forever be a figurehead, a puppet of those whose motives were most driven by personal ambition. 


	53. Duelling

Professor Figg gazed imperiously at her fifth-year Gryffindors.  
  
"All year we have been learning advanced hexes, defensive spells, and evasive strategies. Today we will begin duelling, which ties all of these together. On your feet!"  
  
The students jumped up in surprise as the desks and chairs vanished.  
  
"I imagine you must have learned something from the Duelling Club that was established some years ago. First, the bow."  
  
They practised bowing. "Not too low," warned Professor Figg. "You don't want to look meek or subservient.  
  
"The practical portion of the Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. is all duelling." The students looked at each other worriedly. "You will all get plenty of practice before June. In pairs, ten paces apart, facing each other. On the count of three, you each cast the most surprising hex you can think of, then immediately cast any defensive spell you wish. If it works, none of you should be hit by the hexes. One- two- three!"  
  
"Furnunculus! Impendimenta!" shouted Harry. The room filled with coloured smoke, ka-pows and booms, and shrieking. When the smoke cleared, Seamus Finnigan's left ear had switched places with his nose, Neville Longbottom's robes were scorched at the shoulder, Parvati Patil had an ostrich neck, Lavender Brown's hair was flamingo pink, and Hermione's face was covered in boils. Harry, Ron, and Dean Thomas escaped unscathed.  
  
Professor Figg calmly put out her chignon, which Ron's spell, repelled by Harry's Impediment Curse, had set on fire. "Hmmm... Good first try. Let's work on wrist movement. Weasley, I doubt you saw through all the smoke how close Potter's Furnunculus came to hitting you. Your Spellbinder only just reflected it at Miss Granger. You're all simply not moving fast enough! Again!"  
  
By the end of class everyone was exhausted and everyone had had their physical features accidentally modified at least twice. Harry had practised flicking his wrist so many times that his hand had gone limp.  
  
And this drilling went on nearly every day for the next few weeks. Harry's wand hand cramped up every time someone said the word "duel".  
  
But they improved- everyone could see that. Neville no longer flinched when curses flew at him, or if he did, he had learned to do it unnoticeably. Hermione learned that it was one thing to read about advanced hexes, and a completely different thing to actually use them appropriately in a duel. There was protocol to be followed, and some curses were in principle completely incompatible. Duellers had to think fast and clearly to remember which spells counteracted which others, and often memorized clever sequences used in past duelling championships. All the books on duelling tournaments went out of the school library and were placed on multiple hold by aspiring duellers.  
  
They soon found that Professor Figg had been correct in saying that duelling was the culmination of their Defence Against the Dark Arts training. Everything they had learned, and many things they hadn't, were tested in a duel. The training was gruelling and the actual duel taxing on nerves and intellect, but tremendously rewarding to win.  
  
It also exposed the students' flaws and fortes. Lavender was cautious and conservative, Parvati the exact opposite, recklessly casting spells all over the place with little regard for furniture or spectators. Dean, it was quickly discovered, had bad aim with curses. He hit Professor Figg with a Jelly-Legs when he had been aiming for Seamus, who for his part was quite good at casting spells but had slow reflexes. Neville was also fairly good with defensive spells, but tended to be somewhat predictable, as he was loath to leave his comfort zone when it came to casting hexes.  
  
Ron showed gradual improvement, because though he was audacious and had a keen memory for things he had seen and heard of in professional duels, he had difficulty executing what he recalled. Hermione proved to be a formidable opponent because, unlike Ron, she could easily carry out the advanced spells she had read about in books, and would unexpectedly throw out complex things to escape tight situations.  
  
Harry also found that he excelled at duelling. He was not as well-read as Hermione, but had a peculiar knack for remembering the perfect simple spell for any eventuality, and was skilful enough to use them. Unlike Hermione, who pondered and weighed every move, and strategized perhaps too much, Harry preferred to wing it, able to improvise when faced with adversity. He had to work hard to keep the memory of his duel with Lord Voldemort out of his head, though.  
  
Harry was usually paired with Hermione, and they both enjoyed striving to outdo each other. The duel ended when one competitor was in a position where he or she could no longer cast spells, and though at first it was usually Hermione who incapacitated Harry, the scores evened out over time.  
  
One day in May Professor Figg leaped up and cried, "Surprise evaluation day!"  
  
She threw open the door and the fifth-year Slytherins, released specially from their regular class, trooped in, looking uneasy. Each Gryffindor was placed with a Slytherin opponent of equal abilities. They had a mini- tournament of simultaneous duels, with the losing students standing on the sidelines to cheer on the remaining duellers.  
  
Gradually the ranks thinned out, and soon there were more spectators than duellers. Only four pairs of fighters remained: Hermione versus Blaise Zabini, Harry versus Millicent Bulstrode, Ron versus Tracey Davis, and Parvati Patil versus Draco Malfoy.  
  
Using a series of rapid and confusing spells, Hermione zapped Blaise Zabini with a Relashio, shooting a jet of fiery sparks and singed Blaise's hair. Malfoy defeated Parvati by wrapping her up in magical cords and making her drop her wand. Harry Jelly-Legs-ed Millicent Bulstrode and then Transfigured her into a giraffe who promptly fell over. And, though cornered by Slytherin Tracey Davis, Ron shouted "Diffindo" to split the robes of the fairly plump Tracey, who ran from the room crying.  
  
In the next round Ron was placed against Harry, and Hermione against Malfoy.  
  
"This will be easy for Hermione to win," Ron said to Harry as they stood back-to-back before taking ten paces.  
  
"Of course," said Harry, already plotting for a final duel against Hermione.  
  
But neither of them had accounted for the fact that Draco Malfoy had the same excellent professor as they did, and thus had had the exact same training. Not only that, but Malfoy had not been lying when he had said his father had taught him many ingenious and advanced hexes over the summer.  
  
Harry quickly trounced Ron by casting a Light-Speed Charm on himself and bombarding Ron with rapid-fire jinxes from all directions, and Ron eventually exhausted his repertoire of defensive spells.  
  
"I'll get you next time," Ron said, jumping down off the bookcase where Harry had stranded him.  
  
"No you won't," Harry grinned.  
  
Ron sighed as he dusted himself off. "Yeah, you're probably right."  
  
But it was some time before there was a winner in the Hermione-Malfoy duel. Both were highly skilled and quite daring, and it took nearly a quarter of an hour for Malfoy to throw off Hermione with a Confundus Charm, followed quickly by a Conjunctivitis Curse. There was hesitant applause as Hermione stumbled away, clutching her eyes. Harry and Malfoy stared at each other across the room, Malfoy smirking, Harry trying to look confident while keeping down his butterflies.  
  
"The last duellers," Professor Figg smiled, after Hermione and Ron had been tended to. She placed Harry and Malfoy in the centre of the room while the rest of the students, who had separated like oil and water into their own houses, watched from the sidelines.  
  
"Ready to lose, Scarhead?" muttered Malfoy. "It's about time you were knocked down a notch."  
  
Harry offered no opinion as to whether he felt his ego required diminishing. He was preoccupied in planning his offensive.  
  
The duel began with a Disarming Spell by Harry, which was easily deflected by Malfoy's Shield Charm. Malfoy threw a Pillar of Flame, which Harry put out with an Extinguishing Spell and followed up with a Twitchy Ears Hex, which in transit bounced off Malfoy's Engorgement Hex. The spectators' eyes bounced back and forth rapidly.  
  
"Tarantallegra!" shouted Harry, but Malfoy used Hex-Deflection.  
  
"Rictusempra!" cried Malfoy, and for once Harry wasn't fast enough, and was hit. He burst out laughing. Everyone in the room began to chuckle also, as Malfoy stood smirking- but he stood still too long, and Harry gasped, "Locomotor Mortis!" Malfoy's legs snapped together and he fell on his face as Harry used a countercurse on himself and caught his breath. Harry grinned. Malfoy fumed.  
  
Malfoy fixed his legs and leaped up in fury. "Venti adversi!"  
  
Harry had never seen a Whirlwind Charm performed. It was quite impressive. A gust of wind picked up from nowhere, and slowly began to swirl round the room. Then a funnel cloud descended from the ceiling and tried to suck Harry up to the rafters.  
  
Everyone clung to the walls to keep from being blown away. Tracey Davis came back in from fixing her ripped robes, only to have them blown up into her face by the gusts of Malfoy's Whirlwind Charm, and she ran out in tears again. Professor Figg and the students ignored her, intent on the action in the centre of the room. Harry had grabbed hold of the edge of a blackboard and was shouting, "Inrigo!" Water gushed from the tip of his wand and Harry aimed squarely at Malfoy's chest. Malfoy was knocked off his feet, which distracted him long enough for Harry to wrack his brain for a countercurse to the Whirlwind Charm.  
  
"Er... ah... Fugacius?" he tried. The whirlwind sped up and sucked one of his shoes up to the rafters. "Oops... er..."  
  
The winds whistled shrilly through the room and rattled the windows. Everyone clapped their hands over their ears, except the two indomitable duellers.  
  
Malfoy performed a Drought Charm on himself and the water dried up.  
  
Harry remembered the counterspell. "Malacius!"  
  
The wind ceased instantly and the air was dead still.  
  
"Ssssscared, Ssscarhead?" Malfoy asked quietly.  
  
Harry froze. "What did you say?"  
  
"What, are you having trouble hearing? I said, scared, Scarhead?" repeated Malfoy, smiling slowly.  
  
"No you didn't," said Harry. "You were- hissing."  
  
"Was I?" asked Malfoy, still smiling. "I think you're hearing things, Potter."  
  
But Harry had now divined Malfoy's plan. Malfoy didn't want to win at all- he wanted to provoke Harry into winning the duel the easiest way: Serpensortia. If Harry used Serpensortia he would not only be "knocked down" a number of notches, he would be summarily expelled from Hogwarts and exiled from civilized society.  
  
It was the most obvious and easy way to mortify Harry Potter, boy wonder, and would certainly escalate the vendetta between them to unmatchable heights- if Harry were stupid enough to speak Parseltongue in front of people again. Malfoy was clearly underestimating his opponent- a dangerous move.  
  
The two boys faced off, both in proper duelling stances, stiff and scowling. Malfoy moved first, conjuring a little white mouse from the end of his wand. It sat on the floor, sniffing excitedly. Malfoy arched one eyebrow.  
  
"Fine!" Harry muttered. "You want snakes? Triserpenfallosortia!"  
  
He shouted the last word and gestured brusquely with his wand. Three snakes sprang from the end of Harry's wand. Malfoy recoiled, his eyes full of triumph mixed with fear. The spectators leaped back in horror. Professor Figg started, bewildered. But the snakes were of the coil-spring filled variety, the sort of prank gadget Muggles liked to put in cans labelled "Nuts" to surprise people on April Fools' Day.  
  
Malfoy recovered quickly from his shock, but before Malfoy was fully calmed Harry Summoned Snowball from Professor Figg's desk, and the black cat immediately pounced on the white mouse, devouring it hungrily.  
  
Malfoy frowned and stood still to think, which gave Harry the advantage. Like Hermione, Malfoy always thought too much about everything. He didn't know how to be spontaneous- he appeared to have no instincts, in Harry's opinion. Now he was a perfectly stationary target for Harry. "Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy's wand flew out of his hand and into Harry's. He triumphantly trained both on Malfoy.  
  
The Gryffindors applauded wildly, and after a moment, so did the Slytherins, grudgingly. It had been a good fight, but standing still like that for so long, they understood, Malfoy hadn't deserved to win at the end.  
  
Harry and the rest of the students happened to be looking away from Malfoy's face for one crucial moment, but Professor Figg was stunned to see the Slytherin's lips begin to move, and as Harry put Malfoy's wand down on a desk to shake Dean Thomas' hand, the wand flew several feet, straight into Malfoy's hand.  
  
No one else witnessed this. Malfoy quickly pocketed his wand and sullenly joined his friends, as if he had not just executed an astonishing feat of wandless magic.  
  
Arabella Figg was frightened. She had never heard of anyone being able to do magic without a wand, at will. Certainly there were accidents with young, untrained witches and wizards, like Potter and his old Aunt Marjorie, but doing it on command? Bella could certainly guess where Draco Malfoy had learned how to do wandless magic, too.  
  
The bell rang and the students rushed out, excited, and she resolved to speak to Snape and Dumbledore later. It would not do to confront Malfoy face to face: his movements had been furtive and he had clearly not meant for anyone else to notice what he could do. He would only deny having been able to perform wandless magic, as he had probably been taught by his father.  
  
Bella Figg gritted her teeth. If the Death Eaters dared to teach their adolescent children skills that Lord Voldemort was teaching them, and if Malfoy dared to actually use these skills in public, it meant that they did not expect to have to hide their connection with Voldemort much longer. Snape had been right- the attack could come any day now. She gripped her wand and wondered how much Draco Malfoy knew.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Severus Snape leaned on the counter of the Three Broomsticks and glared at his sour reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He took a deep drink of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and frowned deeper. No one else in the pub took any notice of Snape, who had been dragged here against his will on this fine Friday evening, May 1st, by Perdita Clemens and Mundungus Fletcher, who were dancing nearby. Snape had been marking assignments when the two had burst into his office and hauled him off to the pub. He had brought his marking with him, hoping to be able to sneak off to a private room and finish his work, but the Firewhiskey slackened his willpower, and so his work remained incomplete on the bar by his half-empty bottle. He watched the dancers, glowering, and when the song was over Perdita hopped onto a barstool with a sigh.  
  
"Mercy! How I love to dance! Severus darling, won't you take a whirl with me?"  
  
"Much as I look forward to serving a term as the village laughingstock," Severus replied stiffly, "I do not think my time has come tonight. I do not dance."  
  
"You said you wouldn't come out for a drink with Mundungus and I either, but I see you do that rather well," returned Perdita, indicating the bottle of whiskey. Snape was too bored and bleary to be annoyed with her. Perdita looked at the flasks of potions on the counter. "You're not still trying to work, are you?"  
  
"No, the fifth-years will simply have to wait another week for their Veritaserums," Snape said, pushing aside the flasks and pulling the whiskey closer.  
  
Perdita smiled with sudden inspiration. "Severus, I think what you need is a lady companion."  
  
"I most certainly do not need a lady companion," Snape said. "I never have and I don't believe I ever will." Maldora Lestrange's beautiful face came to his mind. He pushed away the vision and scowled.  
  
"You do," Perdita insisted. "And I'm going to find you one."  
  
"No," Snape said flatly.  
  
"Yes! You'll only have to tolerate her for the evening. Perhaps a nice girl could snap you out of this dreadful mood. Look there, there's someone I know, I'll call her over. Only, you must promise to be civil. You will be polite at least, won't you, Severus?"  
  
"I'm not promising anything," Snape warned.  
  
"And stop drinking!" Perdita flicked a Sobering Spell at him with her wand and waved over her friend. This was the first of the numerous girls that Perdita introduced to Snape in a vain attempt to stimulate his interest. Unfortunately Snape's caustic tongue could not be quelled, and the young ladies Perdita introduced to him reminded him too much of the twits he had to teach. His mordant though inadvertent remarks chased off many an offended candidate.  
  
After the sixth had hurried off in a huff ("Does it hurt to think?" Snape accidentally asked), Perdita sighed in frustration. "How easily you drive away women, Severus! Why can't you keep the venom out of your voice?"  
  
"How many more are there?" asked Snape. "I'm enjoying this rather better than I expected."  
  
"Looking for more of my friends to cut up are you?" Perdita's eyes lit up and she beckoned to a girl sitting in a booth. Snape had cursorily noticed the girl, who, though plain, had not lacked dancing partners all evening. "Only one more, Severus darling, for I fancy she'll be the last one you'll need to meet. She's as acerbic as you are, if not more. But she's my dearest, oldest friend."  
  
"Who is this mysterious wonder-witch?" Snape said, craning his neck. Then the girl in question came towards them and he recognized her. His heart leapt up his throat- not from love, though, but from shock and fear.  
  
"Severus, this is my sister Emily," Perdita said, beaming as she nudged forward Emily Clemens, the dusky witch who was one of Snape's fellow Death Eaters. They stared at each other in astonishment. "Emily, this is Severus Snape, the Hogwarts Potions Master."  
  
"Severus," repeated Emily Clemens, gracefully extending her hand. She was a short girl, pretty in an ordinary way, with longish dark hair and a sly glint in her grey eyes, and held a glass of redcurrant rum.  
  
"Emily," Snape said miserably, taking her hand. "Charmed," said Emily.  
  
Snape was panicking. Was she here to kill him? No, she wouldn't try such an audacious murder, she knew Perdita and Mundungus were both Aurors. Perhaps it was only a coincidence that she had come here. An idea struck him: were the two Clemens sisters conspiring against him? He immediately dismissed the notion. Perdita's ingenuousness was too sweet to be contrived. He thought suddenly of his students' truth potions. If any of the Veritaserum had been correctly prepared, he could slip it into Emily Clemens' redcurrant rum.  
  
The two sisters were casually chatting about their parents. Snape glanced sideways at the little bottles on the counter. Longbottom's, Weasley's, Goyle's- no, these would all be wrong. Aha! Potter! Quickly Snape palmed the bottle and unstoppered it, and when Emily wasn't looking, he poured a few drops into her glass. Then he grabbed his whiskey and took a big gulp. Emily glanced at him and took a sip of her drink as well. Success!  
  
"I think Mundungus is calling me," Perdita said, misunderstanding the look Snape shot at her, and she left looking smug.  
  
The band was playing a slow song. Emily smiled a slow sultry smile that Snape did not like. "Shall we dance?" she asked.  
  
"I don't know how," Snape said, relieved that he had a valid excuse.  
  
Emily smiled wider. "I can help you there." She stepped closer and drew her wand, and whispered, "Imperio."  
  
Instantly Snape's mind went blank. But at the back of his head, he realized, he retained some self-control, because he was able to feel stunned that Emily had dared to use an Unforgivable Curse in a crowded pub. He tilted his head down with some effort and stared at her. "Your spell did not work. I can still think."  
  
"I simply alleviated the spell," Emily answered. "You have partial control. The Dark Lord has been experimenting, and sharing the results of his research with his most valued servants."  
  
The band struck up a tango. "Come on, Severus," she purred, and Snape felt himself move into the appropriate position. Emily put her arms round Snape's neck and laid her head on his shoulder, and began to talk quietly into his ear as they danced a complicated tango.  
  
"I did not expect to see you here tonight, Severus," she murmured.  
  
"Nor I you," Snape whispered back. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Why, I'm dancing! I don't need to justify myself to you or anyone. I'm a reputable member of wizarding society, Severus: eldest daughter of a decent British wizard and a high-born Spanish witch, sister of the virtuous and wildly popular Auror Perdita Clemens. My honour and reputation are immaculate." She stopped and frowned, wondering why she was saying all of this to Snape, who silently thanked Potter for having brewed a flawless Veritaserum.  
  
"I suppose you allude to my past near-conviction," he said.  
  
"I allude nothing. Infer what you will."  
  
Perdita had been right: Emily was just as cold and insolent as Snape himself. Was this how difficult it was to converse with Snape?  
  
"What about you?" Emily said. "How are you acquainted with my sister?"  
  
"I didn't know you were sisters until two minutes ago. I... met her through Dumbledore. She's always coming to the school to see him. She's a sweet girl," Snape said lamely.  
  
"Of course she is. Everyone says that about her. 'Good thing she didn't turn out like that sister of hers,' they say. 'Emily has a bland personality, plain looks, is rude, sarcastic, tactless...' " She was scornful. "Essentially Perdita's the exotic Spanish beauty and I'm the plain English girl. But I got our mother's fiery Spanish temperament!" Her grip on his shoulder tightened painfully.  
  
"This unforeseen meeting will be to your ultimate disadvantage, Severus, because I have a message to pass on about your deadline- the date by which you must have information for our master. Time is getting short. Our master's plan is almost complete. He is only missing your part. He needs your information, soon."  
  
Snape's insides began to rapidly freeze over. He mentally rebuked himself for his spinelessness. Everyone dies sometime, he told himself. Your end will simply come much earlier than the norm. "How soon?" he whispered.  
  
"His Lordship is not ungrateful for your past loyalty, Severus. You served him well and he recognizes your efforts. You will therefore have, from this date, one day for each kill you performed in his service. That's-"  
  
"Thirteen days," Emily and Snape said at the same time.  
  
"You kept a tally?" asked Emily, her mocking tone concealing surprise.  
  
"No- but- surely you understand that one doesn't forget them easily." He paused. "*Do* you understand?"  
  
"I have several kills to my name," Emily said indignantly.  
  
"Are you proud of the fact?" Snape demanded.  
  
Emily was silent. Another song began, with a slow tempo. After a few moments of dancing she spoke again, but in a less harsh tone. "Severus- I know with what his Lordship menaced you, if you should fail him."  
  
"What?" Snape was so stunned he forgot to be aloof. No one was meant to know.  
  
"He threatened to tell Derrick Lestrange that you're in love with his wife, didn't he? Don't quaver so, Severus. I'm the only one who knows." Having slipped her the Veritaserum, he knew she was telling the truth. "The others are too stupid to see anything. But think, Severus- spend one mere cell of your supposedly considerable grey matter pondering the matter! Telling Lestrange about your silly obsession has no apparent value as a penalty. It would only serve to rile up Lestrange unnecessarily and fill him with an unharnessable ire."  
  
"Then why would- his Lordship- mention such a punishment to me?"  
  
Once Emily had started talking, she felt she could not stop. The Veritaserum was allowing her to unburden herself of the thoughts that had rolled through her head for some time. "Because you fear Lestrange. Perhaps you don't see it, but you and he are very similar. Brilliant and simultaneously foolish, with powerful magic skills that are never used to full potential, headstrong to the point of insufferable obstinacy- the similitudes are all there. But in the end, you did not have the nerve to obey orders like Lestrange did. In the end, Severus, he was the one who went forward; you were the one who turned back. And you resent that you didn't have his nerve."  
  
"Derrick and I were once good friends," Snape murmured.  
  
"You fear Derrick," whispered Emily, "because he is what you would have become if you hadn't failed."  
  
Snape felt pierced by her incontrovertible truth. He felt now that putting the truth potion in her drink had quite backfired.  
  
At that moment Perdita and Fletch whirled by and paused. "All right there Snape?" Fletch grinned.  
  
"Marvellous," Snape said dryly.  
  
"You're being nice, aren't you Emily?" Perdita said to her sister.  
  
"Positively amiable," Emily said.  
  
"Good," said Perdita, and shrieked with delight as Fletch dipped her nearly to the floor. They danced off.  
  
"Don't you ever regret deceiving her?" Snape asked Emily.  
  
Emily shrugged. "Loyalties shift, Severus. You of all people should know that. I obey our master now. It's not my fault she chose the wrong side. But-" Emily hesitated. "Sometimes when I see her I wish I had warned her about Hallowe'en. It might have been nice to raise a little nephew. I wanted her and Fletch dead, but we only managed to kill the baby."  
  
Snape recoiled and stared at her. "You would kill your own sister?"  
  
Emily glanced round quickly. "Shh! Not so loud! But Severus, I told you, I serve his Lordship. If I was ordered to kill her I would do it. And she would lock me up without a moment's hesitation and testify against me at my trial, if she found out what I was doing."  
  
Snape knew it was true, but he was still appalled. "Blood ties mean nothing to real Death Eaters?" He was thinking of Maldora Lestrange and Bella Figg, but Emily did not know this.  
  
"Servitude to his Lordship is absolute and eternal." The slow song was coming to a close. "I'm meant to be the maid of honour at her wedding, did you know? If it were up to me I would skip it altogether. Do you know what colour she planned for my dress? Lemon taffeta!"  
  
The song ended. Emily stepped away from Snape. "I hate lemon taffeta," she said flatly. "Good-bye, Severus. Finito Incantato." The Imperius Curse broken, he regained his senses. "See you in thirteen days," she hissed, and walked away. 


	54. Strange and Tragic Events

Ig Figg, professional Keeper and captain of the Montrose Magpies Quidditch team, stumbled drunkenly out of the Leaky Cauldron where he and his teammates and fans had been celebrating the Magpies' win against the Caerphilly Catapults. Ig yelled an unintelligible farewell through the door and lurched off. He braced himself on a lamppost and performed a Sobering Spell on himself. Calm and clear-headed, he then Apparated to the front walk of his opulent Devonshire estate.

Ig was entering his forties and was still a bachelor, with a tendency to womanize. Ig's mother and sister disapproved of his high girlfriend-turnover rate, but Ig perferred variety. This month he had picked up Farhana, a beautiful yet phobic Ministry who was still afraid of the dark. For the three weeks she had been living with Ig, Farhana had always kept at least one light on at all times.

And yet- all the upstairs lights were off. In fact, the entire house was dark. Ig's skin prickled. Poor Farhana- she was probably dead. Ig owed her nyctophobia his life.

The drapes in the living room windows fluttered. Alarm bells went off in Ig's head. He had been followed round by fans before, but this was something different, threatening. His skin crawled- he was being watched, he knew. Ig was not normally one to run from problems, but he had a strange sensation that these were not ale-induced suspicions. There was a serious danger here. Ig had never believed he would be running from his own younger sister- for Ig knew this had something to do with Maldora Lestrange- it could be no one else.

But Ig was the son of Arabella Figg, legendary Auror, and if there was anything she had taught him, it was how to think fast and escape tight situations. He mustn't show that he knew they were there. He mustn't panic. His whole thought process had taken less than three seconds. Now he swayed on his feet- let them think he was still inebriated. If whoever was in his house was stalking him, they would probably know he had been in the Leaky Cauldron.

He looked round himself, feigning confusion, and muttered, loud enough for secret listeners to hear, "Now where's my Firebolt gone? Must've left it in the pub- or maybe at the stadium-" Swallowing his fear, he whistled and called, "Here Firebolt! Heel!" He forced a drunken laugh, and staggered sideways, nearly falling over in panic and terror. Then he Apparated out of there as fast as he could, to the Dublin flat of Quentin Trimble, longtime friend of Bella Figg's, and pounded frantically on the door.

Inside the house, Peter Pettigrew drew back his hand from the curtain. "He's gone!"

Maldora Lestrange shrieked in fury. "You fool! I told not to touch anything!"

"I only moved the drapes to see better," Wormtail said pleadingly, quaking.

"You've ruined everything!" raged Maldora.

"He'll be back, my pet," soothed Derrick Lestrange. "He doesn't know we were here. He only went to look for his broom at the Leaky Cauldron."

"That's what he wanted us to think," Maldora said furiously. "He won't be back. I'll bet he's gone to warn that mother of his. We've got to get out of here now."

"Are you certain?" Derrick asked.

"Yes! Go tell the others we're leaving. They're upstairs with that wretch we found when we came in."

Emily Clemens, a dark young witch, quietly descended the staris and slipped into the room. "Maldora- the girl knows nothing. She's only a junior aide to the Minister of Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Was introduced to Ignacio Figg at a party- never met his mother though. Unbelievable, these silly girls. She lived with a wizard for weeks but she never even met his bloody mother."

"Did you kill her?" asked Wormtail nervously.

"Of course. I can't stand these rash upstart witches- they give all the rest of us a bad name, don't you think, Maldora?"

Maldora was thinking about her reckless youth, when she had run away with a famous Quidditch player. She shook thoughts of Dangerous Dai Llewellyn out of her head and said, "Isn't anyone listening to me? We must get away from here this instant. Emily, go upstairs and tell the others." Emily ran swiftly upstairs again.

"Darling, I don't think there's anything to worry about," Derrick began. "We could take on any number of Hit Wiza-"

Suddenly the front and back doors were thrown open and Ministry Hit Wizards poured into the house, led by Mundungus Fletcher, who had been contacted by Quentin Trimble.

Maldora grabbed Derrick's hand. "Quick!" They both Disapparated. Wormtail followed suit, but not before Fletch burst into the living room and glimpsed him. Fletch's Stunner was a fraction of a second too late- Wormtail squeaked in fright and vanished.

Some of the masked Death Eaters upstairs unwisely came down to investigate, and a battle ensued. Unforgivable Curses escaped the lips of several Death Eaters, but fortunately all of them missed. Many were Stunned by the Hit Wizards. The quicker thinking Death Eaters Disapparated like their leaders, but Emily Clemens was Stunned before she could escape.

In a matter of minutes the Hit Wizards were efficiently shackling their prisoners and carting them off to await questioning and disciplinary action. Someone was assigned the grim task of removing the lifeless body of the witch Farhana. Fletch magically sealed off the premises. He shuddered, thinking of poor Ig Figg, coming home to this ambush. Fletch would die if anything happened to his fiancee Perdita Clemens. The wedding had been originally scheduled for June, but they had both agreed that postponing the wedding until Voldemort was caught was the wisest course of action.

Sweet Perdita, thought Fletch, and couldn't get the lifeless face of Farhana, pale and scared and surprised, out of his head. He worried often about Perdita, roving round the country after Dark witches and wizards, according to her sworn oath to the Order of the Phoenix. Fletch wished he had fallen in love with someone who didn't risk her life daily. Occasionally, he also wished he hadn't chosen this line of work either. But they were both stuck, and simply had to rely on their wits and instincts, and hope for the best.

A Hit Wizard passed by, carrying several captured Death Eaters with his wand. Fletch froze, seeing a familiar face partly covered by her mask. "Stop!" he cried, and the Hit Wizard halted obediently. Fletch stared at the Stunned Emily Clemens. "Merlin's beard!" he breathed. "Emily, a Death Eater! Yes, take them away," he said to the puzzled Hit Wizard. He quickly finished his work and Apparated to Perdita's London flat in a panic.

Ig Figg was secretly placed in a boarding house in Paris. After a week, his sister Phyllida was also brought in from her home in Germany to join him, for security reasons. They were hidden by a Fidelius Charm, their Secret-Keeper being Phoenix Quentin Trimble. Bella Figg was only told her children were safe.

The students heard nothing about this, except that Ig Figg the famous Chaser had been injured and was taking a few weeks off (and because Ig didn't feel right about lying to his fans, his sister Phyllida socked him in the eye).

Many strange things happened to Harry in the following weeks, all unconnected but equally bizarre.

He began to notice tension between the Harry-Ron-Hermione impersonators. Niamh and Darius often argued with Marcus McCabe, in great rows that left all three fuming.

"That's not right," Neville mused after witnessing one such fight. "Isn't Ron usually the one who accidentally starts rows, not Harry? It's supposed to be Darius saying idiotic things and getting Niamh furious at him, instead of Marcus."

Later while hunting for an advanced Potions reference book at the back of the library, Harry came across Darius and Niamh seething behind a bookshelf.

"Where's the other me?" Harry joked.

Darius looked at him cloudily. "If Marcus' opinions are copied from you like his dyed hair and lightning-bolt scar tattoo, then you ought to go away right now."

"That's a fairly pathetic threat, coming from a wizard with one-fifth of my training," Harry remarked. "What happened?"

Unbelievably, it seemed that Marcus had been getting ideas from the Slytherins in their first-year Transfiguration class. He kept trying to convince Darius Diggle that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if admittance to Hogwarts was restricted to purebloods. As a gypsy, Niamh Giffard was not considered pureblood, which was why Marcus irked her so much.

"By the way, this is yours," Darius said, digging out the little Hippogriff figurine that Harry had gotten for his birthday. Harry took the figurine in astonishment. Talonius thrashed wildly in his palm. His beak had been bound shut with Spellotape. "Marcus took him one day, I guess as a souvenir of you. I found him on Marcus' desk."

Some days later Harry and Ron were walking down the corridor when Ron touched his schoolbag and said in surprise, "Where's my Herbology textbook gone?"

"You left it in the Great Hall," growled Argus Filch, stepping out from behind a tapestry with Ron's book in hand. Ron reached for it, but Filch pulled back. "Ah ah ah- first you'll tell me how to do a Levitation Spell."

"Why don't you look it up?" Harry asked.

Filch scowled. "Madam Pince said that library materials are for students and teachers only. But I couldn't find it in my textbook!" His pockmarked cheeks flamed.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. "Wingardium Leviosa," Ron said.

Filch pulled out a brand-new wand and repeated, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron's book flopped onto the floor. Filch's face fell.

"Keep practising," Harry said, drawing his wand. He easily levitated the book into Ron's hand. Filch frowned again and slunk away.

Professor Figg went to London one day to finalize the deal to buy the house in Hogsmeade. Ron was assigned the duty of supervising her five cats. Since it was Tuesday, they followed him to his classes. After lunch Harry and Ron trekked to Charms, on the fifth floor at the furthest end of the castle.

"Couldn't they have given us a closer replacement classroom?" panted Harry.

"Stop, stop! Head count!" wheezed Ron.

Harry leaned on the statue of Boris the Bewildered while Ron counted all present. "Four cats, one Kneazle, two wizards- we're all accounted for. Let's go."

"We're going to be late for Charms if we keep stopping for your stupid head counts," Harry said, pushing aside a tapestry to a shortcut staircase.

"Mind the vanishing step," Ron warned the cats as he hopped over it himself. "Well, I don't want to lose any of them. They're easily distracted- mice, bits of fluff, stray threads, everything."

They came to a fork. "This way," said Ron, pointing to the left.

"No, it's this way," said Harry, pointing to the right.

"I wish the hallways wouldn't change so much!" Ron said, frustrated. "Fine. You, Snowball and Mittens go that way. The rest of us will go this way. We'll see who gets to Charms first."

Harry won the race by a wide margin. The lesson was about Whirlwind Charms, which Harry ruefully thought he could have used before the duel with Malfoy. Ron arrived in Charms ten minutes late, red-faced and fuming.

"Had a run-in with Malfoy," he grumbled, dropping into his seat. "Jelly-Legsed him and ran before he could retaliate- hang on, where's Tibbles?"

They looked round. Four cats, two wizards, no Kneazle. "Tibbles! Tibbles!"

"The magic formula, Mr. Weasley, is Venti Adversi," Professor Flitwick said sternly.

While they were practising the Whirlwind Charm, Ron and Harry held a frantic whispered conference.

"Where could Tibbles have gone?" Harry whispered. "Professor Figg's going to kill you!"

Ron gasped. "Malfoy! He must snatched Tibbles while I was running. I'll bet he's trying to keep me out of the Quidditch finals next week. Probably thinks Professor Figg'll take away the Feather-Light broom if I lose one of her cats. Slimy git."

Professor Figg was unperturbed when Ron confessed that Tibbles II had vanished. "He's a homing Kneazle, Weasley, he'll get home by himself." The days wore on and Tibbles did not return, but Professor Figg affected no concern, confident that she had trained the creature well enough.

Then, during one History of Magic class, Seamus passed Harry the Daily Prophet. "Harry! Isn't this the name of that witch who passed out on the floor at Hallowe'en?"

"What?" Harry grabbed the newspaper and followed Seamus' pointing finger to a paragraph on the third page. "'Emily Clemens, older sister of the Auror Perdita Clemens, is being tried for use of all three of the Unforgivable Curses,' " he read with a sinking heart. He showed it to Ron.

"Yeah, Fletch told my dad about it," Ron confirmed. "A bunch of Hit Wizards captured Emily Clemens in a raid. Apparently Perdita's sister has been a Death Eater since nearly forever and no one noticed. Fletch is furious that he could have been so blind. Now he won't leave Perdita's side for a second."

"What did she say when she found out?" Harry asked.

"Fletch said she looked like she'd been hit with a Full Body-Bind. She wouldn't move or speak for days. Then she said she wouldn't testify for or against her sister. She's washing her hands of the whole thing, Fletch told my dad. Poor Perdita."

"Yeah," murmured Harry. Perdita was having a tragic year: first the incident at Hallowe'en, losing her baby, and now her own sister turning out to be a Death Eater. At least she would be getting married soon- brides were always happy and radiant.

Snape, reading the paper that morning, had choked on his pumpkin juice.

"What's wrong, Snape, did the Wasps lose yesterday?" Professor Flitwick asked.

Snape turned and gave little Professor Flitwick such a cold glare that the Charms teacher's cup of tea froze over.

Snape owled Perdita Clemens several times to find out a) how she was reacting, and b) what would happen to Emily. He interrogated Professor Dumbledore, who admitted that he had questioned Emily, but that even with Veritaserum she had confessed little about her colleagues, only about the use of the Unforgivable Curses and her victims. I had to conclude that she was not very well-informed, like most of the others we arrested."

"But she should have had more information than that," Snape argued. "She knows plenty- I've seen evidence that she's perceptive and very close to Voldemort."

Dumbledore peered at him piercingly over his half-moon spectacles. Snape, who felt very strongly on the subject, did not waver. Dumbledore said slowly, "If you are certain... Then we are faced with an ominous possibility: Voldemort, whom we know has been dabbling in experimental magic, may have devised a potion that would make captured Death Eaters immune to the effects of Veritaserum." He looked thoughtful. "The plot thickens. I will try to find out what I can about Emily Clemens' fate for you, Severus. Please keep trying to contact Perdita. She won't answer Bella's or my owls."

Severus frowned deeply. Poor Perdita, he thought to himself. She must be mortified.

In addition, Harry's bad dreams were getting hazier and less frequent. But that very night he dreamt that he was riding his shiny red motorcycle. He was speeding down an empty street at dusk, at an impossible speed that made the passing scenery look like grey and green blurs. A whirl of angry, hissing voices swept through his head: "Kill her!" "Get it over with!" "Do it!" The roar of the engine filled Harry's ears, and a woman whispered, "I want to stop." Then a brick wall rushed straight at Harry and he crashed.

Harry sat up fast in his four-poster bed, breathing hard. His scar seared. Tibbles was not sleeping on his pillow as usual- God knew where that Kneazle had gone. It was one o'clock in the morning. And several hundred miles away, at the precise moment of impact in Harry's dream, Frank Longbottom bolted upright in his bed at St. Mungo's Hospital and shouted, "Lily Potter!"

Louisa Longbottom instantly awoke. "Frank? What is it"

"Green eyes- Lily Potter!" Frank said excitedly, grabbing his wife by the shoulders. "She had the green eyes. She was the mother of that boy who visited us a few weeks ago- Harry Potter! Louisa, I remember! I remember everything!"

Louisa clasped her hands together. "Oh, Frank! Everything?"

"Every moment," cried Frank, leaping out of bed and running out. "Call the nurse! Call the doctors! Owl my son- my son Neville! And owl that blessed Harry Potter! I've gotten my memory back!"

But Harry would know none of this until morning, when all the owls arrived with the good tidings. For now his immediate concern was his dream, which had been the clearest of any of his dreams for months, and the pain in his scar, which was blinding. He clamped his hands on his forehead and lay down, but sleep did not come. After a while he slipped out of his dorm and through the portrait, still clutching his forehead, and went to Professor McGonagall's private quarters.

Harry's knock interrupted a secret conference between Minerva McGonagall, Bella Figg, Quentin Trimble, and Mundungus Fletcher, who only since yesterday had been persuaded to leave Perdita's side. As Harry recounted his tale and showed them his livid-red scar, the Phoenixes exchanged worried looks, for less than an hour earlier Severus Snape had been called away to a Death Eaters meeting.

After leaving Hogwarts property, Snape Apparated to a quaint Muggle district south of London. When Death Eaters felt their tattoos burn red, they Apparated directly to their master's side; but as Lord Voldemort's location was top secret, the system was amended, and exceptions were made for Snape, the twice-double agent. Normally Snape would be met at the first Apparition site and taken to the real meeting place, so that he would be confused as to the actual location; but this time the door to one cozy Muggle-looking flat opened, and Derrick Lestrange beckoned to him. "This way, Snape. There's a surprise for you in the drawing room."

Snape walked up slowly, dreading what he would find.

The Death Eaters were waiting in the hall, clustered round the front door. Snape entered and stopped, finding himself surrounded. "What is this?" he growled.

"We heard you'd made a new friend, Snape," said Derrick Lestrange. "A brilliant, beautiful young witch."

"But there is a rather egregious obstacle," Maldora Lestrange said. "She's an Auror, and her name is Perdita Clemens."

"Where is she?" demanded Snape. "And where is Voldemort?"

"His Lordship's very displeased with you, Snape," drawled Lucius Malfoy. "He's disappointed that you would deceive him like this."

"She's Emily's sister," Snape said.

"But Emily was perfectly straightforward. She already told us that," said Walden Macnair. "She was a valued member of our association. She's the one who left us directions to this address, actually."

"Come into the drawing room," said Maldora. The Death Eaters parted and Snape was pushed through a door.

Perdita Clemens was standing by the window. Her eyes were puffy and red; but her crying was finished, and now she was quietly seething. She wheeled when Snape was ushered in. "Severus!" she gasped, and started forward, but Malfoy moved into the room and swiftly froze her in her tracks with a flick of his wand. She stared in terror at Snape.

"What are you going to do to her?" whispered Snape.

"We're not going to do anything," said Maldora. "You are."

It took a moment for this to register in Snape's head. Then- it became clear. "No."

"Yes," said the Death Eaters.

"I haven't killed in years," Snape said in a low voice. Perdita gasped.

"This is a test of your fidelity, Severus," said Malfoy. "Don't make us use the Imperius Curse."

Maldora extended her hand and Snape's wand rose out of his pocket and hovered in the air before him. The Death Eaters watched as he slowly took it. Perdita stared in horror as Snape was pushed forward. He faced her and the world seemed to slow down.

"Severus," she whispered. "Do it if you have to."

"I- I-" croaked Snape. "I can't-"

"Kill her!" hissed the Death Eaters.

"Kill me, Severus," Perdita said softly. "Save yourself."

"I can't- I can't!" Snape whispered. It seemed to Snape that his heart was going to burst as he gazed miserably at his doomed and tragic friend.

"Get it over with! Kill her!" pressed the Death Eaters.

"Do it, Severus!" Perdita said, tears welling up in her dark eyes. "Please, just do it quickly."

"Kill the girl!" the Death Eaters cried.

"I can't!" Snape said desperately.

"Do it!" screamed Perdita.

"Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of green light and Perdita Clemens collapsed, lifeless.

The Death Eaters slowly turned to stare at Maldora Lestrange, who had shouted the Killing Curse. Her wand was still raised aloft. She was breathing hard.

"Maldora," said Derrick Lestrange.

"He was taking too long!" shouted Maldora. There was a shocked silence. Maldora looked at Snape. He was gaping at her, the dead Auror witch forgotten for the moment. She lowered her wand and looked round at the stunned faces. "I couldn't wait that long," she said weakly. Then she turned and fled the house. Derrick was too bewildered to run after her. They all stood motionless in the drawing room for a long time after the front door had slammed.

Maldora was too upset to Apparate. She ran and ran until her legs ached, and when she stopped she found her feet had taken her to a little playground for Muggle children. She fell into a swing and cried into her hands. Then she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and said aloud, "I'm sick of this!

"I'm sick of running and sick of hiding. I don't want these secret meetings, these hidden messages and veiled threats. I'm sick of killing, I'm sick of it all! I'm so desperately tired."

The next logical thought popped into her head. She tried it out carefully. "I want- I want to stop."

The moment she said it she knew it was true. This life had to come to an end. It was simply too hard for her. She was a jaded woman. Fifteen years in a dank, slimy Azkaban prison cell had forced her to rethink her life's direction.

She had always felt she was leading a double life: Solange Figg, the girl she showed to her parents, a good, obedient girl who sometimes got into trouble, and Maldora, the girl who frequently escaped from deep inside, the innately evil one whose quick wit and ruthless cruelty often got Solange out of her troubles. Solange Figg had had a hard life of lying, to her friends, her mother, and herself, but that labyrinth of pretense had ended when Solange had died to give life to Maldora.

In the end Maldora had escaped her good counterpart. But now Solange turned out not to be dead after all- she was here tonight, turning Maldora's heartlessness back against her. Solange and Maldora, she understood now, had only switched places, one on the outside, the other inside; and now Solange was threatening to emerge. She was ruining everything! Solange had raised Maldora's wand, forced the curse from her lips, stirred those feelings of misery in her. Solange was tired of killing and her exhaustion was a contagion, spreading to her other self. She could not continue- neither of her selves could. It was simply- too hard.

"One last bout of glory, then," she said out loud. "One final task. At last I shall exact my revenge! I have bided my time long enough. I shall kill the witch who brought me into this cruel and merciless world. Arabella Figg will die before I do."


	55. The Disappearances

"Thirteen," Snape said heavily to his bed hangings upon waking on the thirteenth day of his probation period. He still knew nothing about Dumbledore's weaknesses, if in fact he had any.  
  
"Today is the day I am going to die," Snape said aloud, and felt utterly alone.  
  
That day the Headmaster called the teachers one by one to his office for the annual report on the fifth-years' progress for the O.W.L.'s. Snape entered the office and found Bella Figg and Minerva McGonagall already there, indulging in a glass of parsnip wine with Dumbledore.  
  
"Severus! Come in," Dumbledore said pleasantly, drawing Snape a chair as Bella poured him a glass of the wine.  
  
"Do you really think you should be drinking in the middle of the day in a school?" Snape asked severely.  
  
"My nerves are shot," Professor McGonagall sighed. "This is a trying time, isn't it? Hermione Granger asks me questions every fifteen seconds, Neville Longbottom doesn't know the answers to the questions I ask him, and Harry Potter knows everything already, thank you very much Bella."  
  
"He's a fast learner," Bella said. "Drink with us, Severus."  
  
Snape shrugged and took the glass. Just then a fat snowy owl flew in backwards through the open window and perched on one of Dumbledore's astrolabes.  
  
"Ouzelum!" Dumbledore exclaimed, putting down his wine to untie a note rolled round the owl's leg.  
  
"Whose backwards bird is that?" asked Bella.  
  
"Ouzelum belongs to my brother Aberforth," Dumbledore answered absently as he read the note. "He's a strange breed- the owl, not my brother. Flies backwards because he likes to see where he came from... What's Aberforth want now, I wonder? Unfortunately Aberforth frequently engages in wagers on Quidditch matches, and more often than not he loses; but he hasn't much money of his own... Another fifteen Galleons? Aberforth seems to go through money like our mother went through hats."  
  
He hunted through his desk and found a little satchel of money, which he attached to the owl's leg. "There you are; now off with you, you retrospective rascal!" Ouzelum flew out the window, backwards naturally. Dumbledore sighed. "There go fifteen Galleons, literally flying out the window."  
  
"Why don't you refuse him the money?" Minerva said.  
  
"Not lend a hand to my brother, only living relative?" Dumbledore said. "I can't turn down Aberforth. He's my dearest, oldest friend and relation."  
  
Snape dropped his glass. The horror of Dumbledore's ill-timed declaration was too much for him. He fainted dead away on the floor.  
  
That night Snape was called to Lord Voldemort's side and tortured, and the knowledge forced out of him with a strong Veritaserum. Then he was released, to return to Hogwarts in shame and disgrace, and Voldemort began to plot.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A week later Hermione was brought the Daily Prophet at breakfast. She unfolded the newspaper and held it up to read the headline as she raised her goblet of pumpkin juice to her lips. But suddenly she seemed to completely forget what she was doing and missed her mouth entirely, pouring pumpkin juice all over her shoulder.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron jumped up to mop up the sticky orange liquid in her hair. But Hermione hardly noticed the juice soaking her entire right side, so dumbstruck was she. Ron and Harry stared at her, amazed. Then Ron grabbed the Daily Prophet and scanned the headline, and let out a yelp of surprise and dismay.  
  
"Show me," demanded Harry. Ron mutely handed him the paper.  
  
'WIZARD DUMBLEDORE ACCUSED OF PRACTICING DARK MAGIC  
  
Yesterday the Ministry of Magic arrested the eminent wizard Aberforth Dumbledore on the charge of using the Unforgivable Curses. According to eyewitnesses, at approximately 1 p.m. Dumbledore Apparated in the middle of a busy Muggle street in London and began casting hexes randomly about himself. Wizard and Muggle bystanders say that when a group of Ministry wizards approached Dumbledore, the 125-year-old wizard simply laughed and used the Cruciatus Curse on one of the wizards. Cruciatus is, of course, strictly forbidden by the Ministry. Dumbledore was quickly subdued by Ministry Hit Wizards and taken into custody to await trial. Aberforth is the younger brother of the famed wizard Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor Dumbledore refused to comment on his brother's appalling conduct.'  
  
"I don't understand," said Hermione. "Why would Professor Dumbledore's brother do this?"  
  
"Professor Dumbledore isn't here," Harry said, suddenly noticing that fact. "He must have gone to see his brother, wherever the Ministry's keeping him."  
  
Professor McGonagall entered from the door behind the teachers' table, hurried to her seat and called for their attention. "I expect you've all seen the headlines by now. The Headmaster has gone to sort out his brother's affairs. He will return shortly. During his absence, as the deputy Headmistress, I will keep order here. Classes will continue as usual."  
  
"It's a ploy," Bella Figg said that night at an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. "Obviously Voldemort managed to put Aberforth under Imperius and forced him to perform all those contemptible spells."  
  
"I agree that it's the most likely solution," said Quentin Trimble, "but you know how difficult it is to prove that a wizard is or isn't under Imperius. And I've found out that that miserable Lucius Malfoy is pressing for the Dementor's Kiss- probably to keep Dumbledore occupied while Malfoy's master does as he pleases. We need a good defence for Aberforth, and fast."  
  
"Think harder, everyone," pleaded Minerva McGonagall. "We must figure out a plausible argument to get Aberforth out so that Albus can come back to Hogwarts. We're lost without him, but he's determined to get his brother released."  
  
"Where are they keeping Aberforth anyway?" asked Remus Lupin.  
  
"You'll never believe it- in Gringotts' bank," said young Quintius Croaker, who worked at the Ministry. "It's brilliant: no one gets in or out of the high-security vaults without the goblins' say-so, and they're not so corruptible as the Dementors, they answer to Albus, bless his soul."  
  
Minerva nodded. "Has anyone heard from Fletch?"  
  
"He's hiding out in Berlin somewhere," said the sagacious Auror Cassius Egg. "Perdita's death hurt him terribly. I don't know that he'll soon recover... He was so in love, the poor man. Will he ever come back to the Order, do you think?"  
  
"Without a doubt," said Lupin. "Fletch is a believer in the correctness of vengeance. He will return, if only to see Emily Clemens and Maldora Lestrange convicted for their crimes and probably to punish them himself."  
  
"Will you be all right here without Albus?" Trimble asked Minerva.  
  
"Of course," said Professor McGonagall. "But in case I'm not, everyone get back to thinking! The Imperius defence may not stand on its own."  
  
* * * * *  
  
With only thirty days before the O.W.L.'s, the fifth-years were practically living in the library, studying in every spare minute that they weren't sleeping, eating or in class. At the moment it was a regular midweek morning and the students and staff did happen to all be eating breakfast in the Great Hall, save three.  
  
Severus Snape was pacing in his office in the dungeons, thinking dark thoughts about life in general. Dumbledore had been gone a week already since his brother had been Imperius'ed- at least, that was Snape's private feeling. He had no concrete evidence. He could try to snoop around with the Death Eaters to find out who had executed the kidnapping and the actual cursing, but he doubted they would tell him anything. He was also debating whether to tell the Order that he knew where Lord Voldemort was hiding, having been tortured there several times by the Dark Lord himself. But ultimately he made the wrong choice, and kept the information to himself.  
  
Marcus McCabe had noticed that Harry Potter was more wiry than he was, and had resolved to diet. He had skipped breakfast and gone to the library, because he had also noticed that Harry was top of his class in nearly every subject, while Marcus was about fifteenth in his class.  
  
In the library, however, he encountered Alberta Goyle, Gregory Goyle's first-year sister. She jumped when Marcus found her pacing in the Potions section, muttering to herself, but relaxed when she recognized him.  
  
"Oh, it's just you, Marcus. I nearly thought it was Harry Potter."  
  
"Thanks," Marcus said delightedly. He sat on a sofa nearby and Alberta joined him, after a moment of hesitation.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Marcus asked curiously. "Look round before sitting down?"  
  
Alberta shrugged. "You're Gryffindor, I'm Slytherin. It looks unnatural for us to be chatting."  
  
"You didn't use to think that."  
  
"That's true- but my brother told me not to associate with Gryffindors." She bit her lip and looked at the floor. "But I just can't seem to stay away."  
  
"Did I interrupt you?" Marcus asked. "You looked like you were practising something."  
  
Alberta reddened. "I was- only- it's something that I don't think I can go through with anymore. I could really use some of that Gryffindor courage now."  
  
"Ask Malcolm Baddock," Marcus replied with a wistful grin. "He's a lot braver than I am. I saw Malfoy and his pack in the hall, taunting him and picking on him because he won't join their campaign against Harry. I could never stand up to them like that, especially to Malfoy- he looks like a really experienced wizard and everyone says he's more advanced than all the other fifth-years, except maybe Hermione and Harry. Plus Malfoy and Malcolm's dads are cousins- imagine going against your own blood to defend what you believe in. Malcolm's got more Gryffindor courage than I ever could."  
  
"But you're the Harry Potter clone! He's positively oozing with bravery and daring."  
  
"But I'm not like the real him!" Marcus wailed. "The best I can do is look like him. Look at this," he tugged at his hair, "this hair, dyed black and cut like his! These glasses with flat lenses- I really have perfect vision. And my eyes are naturally brown- I made them green with magic! Even this scar, I penned it on with red ink! I'm a worthless imitator, Alberta. I used to want to be him, but now that I've met him, I see that I could never be anything like the real thing. For one thing, we think too differently. We have divergent political opinions. He has so many friends- I only seem to be able to alienate people, like my supposed best friends Darius and Niamh. And he always wants to do boring things like help people and visit that shifty-looking Hagrid in hospital."  
  
"There are some aspects of Harry that are inimitable," conceded Alberta soothingly. "But Marcus McCabe is unique too. There's no one else who could be like you."  
  
"Who would want to?" Marcus asked listlessly.  
  
The library door swung open and two tall black-cloaked figures slipped in and Stunned Madam Pince; but the two first-years were oblivious to the intrusion.  
  
"My point is," Marcus was saying, as the two figures moved silently up behind him, "I once idolized him, and now I barely respect him. He's- hey!"  
  
Alberta screamed as the burlier masked figure grabbed Marcus, Stunned him and shoved him unceremoniously into a sack. The taller figure Stunned her and crammed her in the sack after Marcus. Then the two figures made a swift and stealthy exit.  
  
They ran down the corridors silently and descended to the dungeons. There they found the office of the Potions master. Snape gave a cry of shock when they burst into his office. "What do you want?" he cried hoarsely. "Get out!"  
  
Both figures drew their wands and levelled them at Snape. "Come on," growled the burlier one, disguising his voice. "The Dark Lord wants to see you. Immediately."  
  
The tall figure took the sack and the burly one grabbed Snape rougly, pinning his arms to his sides. "No," Snape gasped weakly, straining against his captor's strong grip. "I won't go. I want out!"  
  
Both of the hooded wizards laughed. "Once you're in," said the tall one, "you can never get out. The only alternative is death."  
  
"Kill me then," said Snape, reaching for his wand in his pocket. "I deserve only death."  
  
But the burly one reached out one hand and Snape's wand flew out of his pocket and into the other wizard's hand. "Ah ah ah! Hey, there's some Veritaserum on the shelf, shall we take it?"  
  
The tall wizard nodded and the big one stuck out his hand and did the same wandless trick to summon the little glass jar. Snape began to protest, but the tall one Stunned him. Then they fled down the halls, and were close to their secret egress when a witch fluttered round a corner, out of breath from her frenetic race from her classroom on the seventh floor.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore!" Professor Trelawney called excitedly. "I have seen a vision in my crystal ball! The Inner Eye has revealed to me that the Death Eaters are near!" She gasped, seeing the two masked figures. "What-? Who are you?"  
  
She screamed when she realized her vision had been accurate. The taller wizard acted quickly. He raised his wand and uttered, "Avada Kedavra!"  
  
Sybil Trelawney's scream was abruptly cut short as she crumpled to the floor, dead.  
  
"Lestrange! Did you really have to kill her?" demanded Vincent Crabbe, Sr., pulling up his mask with his beefy hand. "Couldn't you have just Stunned her?"  
  
Derrick Lestrange pulled off his mask as well. "I remembered her from my time here. Bloody fool- she was a complete fraud." He smirked. "Bet she didn't see that one in her bloody tea leaves."  
  
"This is supposed to be a stealth kidnapping!" Crabbe hissed. "You'll get us caught!"  
  
"Shut up, Crabbe! I should never have brought you, you'll mess everything up."  
  
"I will not! You're the one who messed it up. This girl you snatched with Harry Potter- she's one of Goyle's daughters, Alice or Abigail or something. He's going to kill us if he finds out we kidnapped her too! What are we going to do with her, Lestrange?"  
  
"What were we supposed to do, leave a witness right there in the middle of the castle? Lucius will tell us what to do. Come on, we have everything we came for. Let's stash this charlatan psychic in that broom cupboard and get out of here quick."  
  
They locked Professor Trelawney's body in the cupboard and fled with their three unconscious hostages.  
  
None of them, unfortunately, was immediately missed. No one was looking for Marcus or Alberta; Professor Snape was thought to be ill and still depressed about Perdita Clemens' death; and Professor Trelawney's absence was ascribed to clairvoyance-related woes.  
  
"Maybe her Inner Eye has cataracts," Ron said when Professor Trelawney failed to show up for Divination. The other boys snickered while Lavender and Parvati looked annoyed.  
  
Later, much later, Ron would regret his crass and ill-timed remark, and the others would regret having laughed. But for now they only knew that they had a spare period, and they all went to the library to study again for the O.W.L.'s. Harry and Ron were quietly reading about Mandrake Restorative Draughts when Gregory Goyle lurched round the corner and growled, "Weasley!"  
  
He grabbed Ron by the front of his robes and slammed him against the wall. Harry was instantly on his feet with his wand levelled at Goyle.  
  
"Drop him, Goyle," Harry ordered.  
  
Goyle ignored him. "Where is she?" he demanded of Ron.  
  
"Where is- agh- who?" squeaked Ron, clawing in vain at Goyle's hand on his throat.  
  
"Alberta!" Goyle grunted. "Where is she? What did you say to her this morning?"  
  
"Who's Alberta?" gasped Ron.  
  
"Your sister?" Harry asked Goyle. The face of the pretty, prim Slytherin girl with raven hair leaped to mind and then more images flooded in- a pale delicate face lifting up in panic as he found her reading a forbidden book, raven hair flying out behind a small fleeing figure- and then he finally made the connection. "Oh no! Your sister Alberta is Ron's Secret Admirer?"  
  
"Yeah," Goyle said, turning red and looking ashamed. "I warned her against you, Weasley, but she kept sending you presents and sweets, and Malfoy was helping her- and you know him, he's Malfoy. I can't stop Malfoy... Then this morning Alberta said she was going to find you and tell you she was your Secret Admirer..." He frowned slowly. "But- didn't she do it?"  
  
"We haven't seen her in ages!" Harry said. "Put Ron down!"  
  
Goyle released Ron, who slumped against the wall, wheezing. "Where could she be then?" Goyle asked Harry. "She wasn't at breakfast this morning. I thought she was talking to Weasley. But no one's seen her all day. I thought Weasley upset her and she ran off to cry or something. You- you really haven't seen her today?"  
  
"No, and that's the truth," Harry said as he helped Ron to his feet.  
  
"Get out of here, you walking pain in the neck," Ron gasped crossly. Goyle glowered and walked away.  
  
"So Goyle's sister was my Secret Admirer?" Ron said when he'd recovered. "Wild!"  
  
"We should tell Hermione," Harry said with a frown. "And Malfoy was helping her?"  
  
"I've never had a girl brew a Love Potion just to make me notice her," Ron remarked.  
  
"You git," Harry said to Ron, "Alberta Goyle's a first year. Draco Malfoy brewed the Love Potion."  
  
Ron frowned. "Ugh! Malfoy fancied me?"  
  
Harry sighed but let it pass. "Ron, aren't you the least bit curious about where Alberta Goyle's gone?"  
  
"Probably lost her nerve at the last minute and ran off to cry in the girls' toilet," Ron answered dismissively. "Are you really going to tell Hermione? I don't want Alberta to get in trouble. She did it because she was in love with me."  
  
"You're in love with yourself," Harry said wearily. "Alberta was obsessed. Wonder where she is."  
  
At lunch they told Hermione about the incident with Goyle. She was predictably triumphant. "I knew she'd slip up sooner or later! Now I've got her, that sneaky little witch! A few detentions, maybe take away twenty-five house points-"  
  
"Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, hurrying up. "Miss Granger, would you kindly come with me? I urgently need the help of all the prefects."  
  
"Of course," said Hermione, jumping up immediately. The two witches walked away, conversing quietly, and Harry saw Hermione gasp and quickly glance down the Gryffindor table. It was then that he realized that another first- year was missing from the Great Hall: Marcus McCabe, the other Harry.  
  
While the other students were at lunch, a search party was being assembled. The whole affair had to be resolved quickly, before the Ministry heard about it and sent bureaucrats to muddle everything up. As there were not enough Phoenixes to cover the entire castle and property, the prefects were detailed to assist them. Hermione was in a group led by Arabella Figg. They were searching the upper floors at the farthest end of the castle. Hermione and Sally-Anne Perks, who was a prefect of Hufflepuff house, scoured the lavish prefect bathroom by the statue of Boris the Bewildered.  
  
"Nothing's happened round here since the last search," the coquettish mermaid in a painting on the wall said to the girls.  
  
"What last search?" Sally asked.  
  
"The one at Christmas- don't you remember?" said the mermaid. "And I'd like to know, are these enquiries going to be a semi-annual routine? They're so exhausting on my nerves, darlings." Hermione and Sally exchanged worried glances.  
  
Meanwhile, prefect Cho Chang entered the library. "Madam Pince, are you in?"  
  
"Perhaps she was at breakfast," said Remus Lupin, coming in after Cho. "Madam Pince? Hello?"  
  
Cho went behind the front desk and gasped. "Sir- she's here on the floor!"  
  
Lupin rushed over and knelt by the librarian. "Thank heavens, she's only been Stunned... Miss Chang, run and fetch Quentin Trimble- he's on the third floor." Cho ran off. "Enervate!" Madam Pince stirred. "Irma, who did this?"  
  
"Oh..." murmured Madam Pince, dazed. "Wizards... tall, wearing black cloaks..."  
  
"Who were they?" urged Lupin.  
  
"Masks," said Madam Pince, waving her hand vaguely in front of her face. "Death Eater masks."  
  
"Oh no!" cried Remus Lupin.  
  
Bella Figg left the Charms classroom she had been searching on the fifth floor and slammed the door. Her anxiety was making her frustrated. How could the Death Eaters have waltzed right into the school and made off with two students? she asked herself angrily.  
  
She knew what a close shave this was, having Marcus McCabe kidnapped. They had thought they were taking Harry Potter. When they found out their mistake they would be very disappointed... and probably very angry. McCabe could be killed- Alberta Goyle too. What had that Slytherin girl been doing that would make them take her, too? She was the daughter of the Death Eater Goyle, Bella remembered. Perhaps she'd been with McCabe when he was snatched, and they'd taken her because she was a witness...  
  
But how had they gotten in? she wondered for the trillionth time as she started towards the North tower. She doubted that silly Sybil Trelawney had heard or seen anything, but everyone had to be questioned. In her haste and outrage Bella nearly ripped down a rich tapestry that concealed her course, the shortcut stairway to the sixth floor. She stumbled halfway up and lost her glasses in the vanishing step, and cursed. She glanced round, wondering wryly what her children would say if they heard her swearing for only falling on a stair. Bella stood up, smoothing her robes and trying to calm herself, and continued on her way.  
  
Professor Trelawney was not in her classroom. Bella slid testily down the silvery ladder- and then was hit by belated comprehension so fast she nearly fell over upon landing. "Of course!" she whispered, her mind racing.  
  
She knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt how the Death Eaters were getting in. It was brilliant- she herself was surprised she had figured it out so soon.  
  
She weighed her options. She could alert Minerva- but they'd need Ministry Hit Wizards and that would mean entangling Fudge in the affair, and he'd mess it up. Also, she realized, she didn't know how many Death Eaters were lying in wait, preparing to ambush the castle- if she drew them out now she would be endangering all the students and staff. Or she could try to go in herself and surprise them.  
  
Why was she debating this? she asked herself suddenly. The right thing to do was to fetch Minerva, the deputy Headmistress. But Bella was trying to justify a solo mission to herself. Why? It was because of Maldora- it was always Maldora, Bella thought furiously. Now Bella had this single chance to catch her traitorous disowned daughter- she couldn't let bureaucracy and hard choices stand in her way. She drew her wand and returned to the secret entrance of the Death Eaters. Then she took a deep breath and stepped in. 


	56. The Secret Entrance

Minerva McGonagall had remained in the Great Hall to watch over the remaining students. Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream rang through the hall- prefect Susan Bones had found the body of Professor Trelawney in the cupboard. After a shocked moment of inertia, the students all leaped up and rushed for the doors, but found them locked and were further panicked.  
  
"STOP!" commanded Professor McGonagall at the top of her lungs. The Great Hall immediately fell silent. "Return to your places at once and do not move!" They stood still, staring at her. "NOW!" shouted Professor McGonagall, quivering.  
  
The students finally obeyed. Harry and Ron stumbled back to their seats and sat nervously. Harry's scar was hurting again, but he sensed that this was not the time to tell Professor McGonagall. Ron was very pale.  
  
Eventually the students were taken to their respective common rooms- *all* the students, including the prefects and Head Girl and Boy. Susan Bones' memory was Obliviated and she was quickly treated and put away with the other Hufflepuffs. Not one student remained outside of their dormitories, and the non-Auror teachers were placed in the common rooms to oversee the students. Then Professor McGonagall sent urgent owls to Albus Dumbledore and to every Phoenixes in Britain, requesting their assistance. The Phoenixes came straight away and reported to Minerva, without qualm or question. Even Mad-Eye Moody, who still feared to set foot in Hogwarts again, sensed the urgency and desperation in Minerva McGonagall's terse coded message and came to the castle, full of foreboding.  
  
And by this time Hermione and Sally-Anne's team had alerted Professor McGonagall to the absence of their leader. The Order of the Phoenix sought Bella Figg everywhere, to no avail. She was missing. So was Severus Snape, Minerva discovered when she checked his private quarters.  
  
Worse yet, Dumbledore could not be found. This was the most vital point of the entire fiasco, for both sides. Dumbledore had departed for Gringotts' Wizard Bank seven days ago and used magic in conjunction with normality to conceal himself from the prying eyes of his enemies. Finding the Headmaster gone from Hogwarts, Voldemort had assumed his plan had worked and had thought that he could waylay Dumbledore in transit; however, he had not found Dumbledore on the Knight Bus, the Hogwarts Express, the Floo Network or any other magical mode of transportation, because Albus Dumbledore had surreptitiously boarded a plain, unnoticeable London-bound Muggle tour bus in a town near the ruins under which Hogwarts was cloaked. In this way Dumbledore escaped detection by the Death Eaters, but also by his own organization.  
  
Professor McGonagall visited the four common rooms with a portentous edict. No one was to leave their common room until Professor McGonagall said it was safe to go. Fully trained Aurors were assigned to patrol the halls; one Auror was secretly stationed outside each dormitory- three outside the Fat Lady. They should spend their time studying, Professor McGonagall said. Of course, after she left, all the students began talking nervously, with no thought to their books.  
  
"Do you think the Death Eaters got them?" Ron asked Harry in a low voice as they sat with Hermione by the fireplace.  
  
"Probably," Harry said. "I bet they thought they were getting me when they grabbed Marcus. But what are we going to do?"  
  
"There's nothing we can do," Hermione said. "You heard Professor McGonagall, no one's to leave Gryffindor Tower under any circumstances. Maybe we should try to study." She put her hand in her pocket. "Where's my good quill gone? I had it at lunchtime... I must have dropped it on the stairs, or in the hall..." She bent down to look on the floor.  
  
"But my godmother is missing!" Harry argued, peering under the table to look Hermione in the face. "And a mad boy who thought it would be fun to look and act like me. It's my fault Marcus was taken. But Professor Figg- I hope she hasn't been taken by-" He bit down on his words and curse as he hit his head on the table as he sat up. He'd forgotten that Hermione and Ron didn't know about Maldora Lestrange.  
  
"By?" prompted Hermione curiously, straightening up.  
  
Now was as good a time as any, Harry decided. He quietly explained Arabella Figg's family history. "That's why Maldora Lestrange wants to kill her, I think," he finished.  
  
"Wait," Hermione said suddenly. "Do you think this has anything to do with Tibbles' disappearance?"  
  
"That was Malfoy," Ron said.  
  
"But what if it wasn't?" Hermione said. "What if Tibbles accidentally stumbled upon the Death Eaters' secret entrance and couldn't get out?"  
  
"How would that be possible?" Ron said. "The Death Eaters would have to open it for Tibbles to get in."  
  
"Not if they didn't open and close it," Harry said suddenly. "What if it stayed open by itself?"  
  
"Then the search parties would have found it by now," Ron said.  
  
"Not if it could close up by itself too," Harry said. It was all dawning on him now. "Hermione- did you trip on the shortcut stairs to the sixth floor earlier?"  
  
"Yes, how did you know? I slipped on the vanishing step."  
  
"That's it," Harry hissed, leaning forward in excitement. "It's the vanishing step! That's the secret entrance- that's how they were getting in. Why didn't I ever think of it before? It's only ever open on Tuesdays. You see? Professor Trelawney was found on the way from the dungeons to that staircase with the vanishing step." He had a vision of Tibbles II the Kneazle dropping through the floor and he and Ron going on without noticing. "And we must've lost Tibbles in the step, before Ron even ran into Malfoy. Then today they came and kidnapped Marcus, thinking he was me, and Alberta must have been with him."  
  
"Harry, do you really think that could be true?" Hermione said, looking frightened and excited at once.  
  
"It has to be," Ron said. "It's the only place they could hide. All the attacks have been on Tuesdays, and the searches were on Wednesdays when it was closed, so no one found it!"  
  
"And then," Harry said, "Professor Figg figured it out while she was looking! She must have jumped in or something, she didn't leave a trace." He thought of his godmother walking willingly into the danger. What could have possessed her to do it?  
  
"We've got to tell Professor McGonagall," said Hermione. Before Harry or Ron could stop her she ran to the portrait and pushed. And pushed again. After a stunned moment she hurried back to Harry and Ron. "They locked it somehow," she said.  
  
"What'll we do?" Ron asked. They both looked at Harry.  
  
"We're going through, of course," Harry said.  
  
"You and I will go, tonight," Ron said to Harry.  
  
"What do you mean, Harry and you?" demanded Hermione. "What about me?"  
  
"You're not coming," Ron said flatly. "You're going to stay on the stairs and keep watch. Don't bloody argue, Hermione! Someone has to call for help if Harry and I get in trouble."  
  
"Why me? Why not you?" Hermione said.  
  
"Because Alberta Goyle's getting mixed up in this thing is my fault," Ron said. "It's my responsibility to save her."  
  
Hermione frowned deeply. "You're not jealous, are you?" Harry asked curiously. Her brow cleared immediately.  
  
"No, of course not, don't be silly. Now come on, we have to plan this." Ron smiled gratefully at Harry.  
  
They continued to discuss quietly by the fireplace long into the night, as the common room gradually emptied. All three were grim-faced, sober enough to catch Fred and George Weasley's attention.  
  
"Why the long face, madam prefect?" enquired George, sidling over.  
  
"Ickle Ronniekins not satisfying his young lady?" teased Fred. Hermione gave them such a frosty look that they let her and Ron alone.  
  
"Oughtn't you all to be studying for the O.W.L.'s next month?" Fred asked Harry.  
  
"We are," Harry said, holding up a book.  
  
"I didn't know you could read upside down, Harry," George remarked. "You have so many hidden talents." Harry quickly turned the book right-side up.  
  
"Studying Charms, are we? Let's see you do a Cheering Charm on Fred," George suggested.  
  
Harry picked up his wand from the tabletop and jumped as it turned into an ice cream on a stick. The twins roared with laughter.  
  
"What do you know," Ron said dully. "The Cheering charm worked."  
  
The face of Harry, Ron and Hermione's overwhelming gloom, the twins' mirth quickly faded. George thrust an armful of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at Harry before they left.  
  
"Here, you take these. Looks like you three really need a laugh."  
  
Harry stuffed them in his pockets without looking.  
  
At ten o'clock Harry went upstairs to his dorm to get his Invisibility Cloak. He stood at the window once more, Hedwig perched on his shoulder. The grounds were silent an still. Hagrid's hut was empty, now that Fang had gone to St. Mungo's to keep Hagrid company. Harry saw his motorbike leaning against the wall by the pumpkin patch. Sirius had told him how to summon the motorcycle by whistling. Loath to return to the common room with Ron and Hermione and face the impending prospect of his own death, Harry idly whistled the opening notes of "Torquatus Died of Cheesecake Consumption", Sirius' favourite Weird Sisters song. The front headlight snapped on obediently. Harry smiled and wished he had used the motorcycle more.  
  
The Forbidden Forest betrayed no signs of life. Who knew what lurked in the deepening shadows beneath the heavy treetops? Harry's mind flashed back to the centaur who had saved him from a strange shadowy figure in the Forest. What had happened to Firenze and the other centaurs in the meantime? Harry's first year at Hogwarts seemed so long ago. The memories of the perils and adventures of past years weighed on his heart. The Quidditch stadium was silent and empty. Harry felt hollow. He picked up his Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak and Ron's Nimbus Feather-Light and went down to the common room.  
  
They were soon ready to go, but they had to wait until the common room was completely empty. Harry was worried. If he remembered right, the vanishing step only vanished precisely on Tuesdays, becoming solid at midnight. They would have to move fast.  
  
At ten-forty-five the last Gryffindors left the common room. Since the portrait hole was closely guarded, they tried the window, but found it locked as well. Hermione's Alohomora would not work.  
  
"This is ridiculous," Harry said impatiently. "We're wasting time!" He picked up a textbook and hurled it at the window, which shattered on impact and wakened half the Gryffindors. "Pax," Harry said immediately afterwards, and the other students fell asleep again. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. Harry stood at the broken window and whistled the first bars of "Torquatus Died of Cheesecake Consumption" again. Far below them they heard the revving of an engine, and in a moment the flying motorcycle had soared through the window and landed next to them.  
  
"You're getting to be a regular delinquent," Ron said admiringly to Harry as they clambered on.  
  
Hermione quickly found the Silencing Switch and the engine's revs and roars were immediately muted. "Just don't leave tire tracks on the rugs," she warned.  
  
Harry turned on the cloaking device and kicked the brakes. They flew out the window and over the castle, looking for a window near the secret staircase.  
  
"It's at that end," Ron said, pointing. "There!"  
  
Harry flew down to the right window and hovered in the air while Hermione magicked the lock. Her Alohomora charm didn't work here either, so she simply Vanished it. Then they all jumped through, their landing padded by the carpet. "You go back to Hagrid's hut," Harry whispered to the motorcycle, which blinked its headlights twice and obediently flew away.  
  
They threw the Invisibility Cloak over themselves and the two broomsticks and tiptoed down the hall to the secret stair. It was a short walk, but they saw two Aurors on the way, one sitting vigilantly on a chandelier above them and one silently stalking through the hall. Thankfully neither of these two was Alastor Moody, whose magical eye could have seen through the cloak. They reached the secret staircase; the vanishing step lay about halfway up. Ron knelt down and put his hand through. "Still open," he whispered in relief.  
  
"I'm coming with you," Hermione said.  
  
"No you are not," Ron responded firmly. "If we die, who will carry on our legacy? Marcus, Darius and Niamh? No, you are staying here, Hermione."  
  
"Please Hermione, someone's got to keep watch," Harry whispered. Hermione drew her wand and nodded, too upset to speak.  
  
"If Ron and I don't come back this way by the time the step seals up at midnight," Harry said, "you have to run for help. The castle's crawling with Aurors, it won't be hard to catch someone's eye."  
  
Then he fell silent and they all stared at each other. There was nothing more to say. Their precious time, so meagre already, was leaking away. Harry embraced Hermione. "If we die, promise you'll still keep studying for the O.W.L.'s," he whispered. "If I don't live to beat Malfoy, at least you have to."  
  
"Oh Harry, don't say that," Hermione whispered back. "You're a great wizard, you really are. Don't- don't do anything tremendously stupid down there." She squeezed him till he thought his ribs would crack.  
  
The she turned to Ron. On impulse she kissed him on the mouth. Harry tried to look away. Finally Ron stepped back. "Wish us luck," he said with the slightest quaver in his voice, and he mounted the Feather-Light and jumped into the vanishing step.  
  
Harry drew his wand. "Don't want to land on this," he said, trying to smile but failing. "Good-bye, Hermione,"  
  
With that he swung one leg over the Firebolt and stepped backwards, and dropped out of view. Hermione collapsed on the stairs and pulled the Invisibility Cloak over her head, her hands shaking.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Harry was glad they'd thought to bring their brooms. He descended slowly, but picking up speed as he thought of his godmother and Marcus and Alberta. Below him he heard a thud followed by a creaking of hinges and an "Oof" from Ron, and a second later he passed a wooden blur which he guessed was a trapdoor. Instantly the air rushing past him cooled. Harry reached out in front of him and came away with a handful of earth. He was flying down into a cool black underground shaft. His mind flashed back to the strange dream in which he had been carried on a current of snakes to cascade down this selfsame vertical gateway. The blackness chilled his senses. He shut his eyes against the stifling dark.  
  
A soft thump below him caused his eyes to fly open. He heard Ron cursing as he scrambled out of the way; and then Harry landed safely on the cold soft soil.  
  
"Lumos," Ron whispered to his wand, and his face was bathed in a dim but steady light. "All right there, Harry?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry, getting off his Firebolt and lighting his wand. "We'll take the brooms with us in case we have to make a quick escape."  
  
His glowing wandtip illuminated three earthen walls of the narrow shaft. The fourth wall ended somewhere above them, leaving a frameless doorway. They set off down the passageway. The soil walls and ceiling appeared to be supported by magic alone. A little ways along they reached a division of paths: no less than six separate corridors, looking perfectly innocent and identical, all leading off in different directions. "What now?" said Harry desperately.  
  
All of a sudden a large ball of fur barrelled down the leftmost corridor and leaped into the air. Before they could react it hit Ron in the face- and began licking his cheek and purring.  
  
"Tibbles!" Harry said in amazement. The Kneazle pounced on him and purred gently against his face.  
  
"Maybe Tibbles knows the way," Ron said. Immediately Tibbles jumped down from Harry's arms and began to walk the way he had come. "This way, I guess," Ron said.  
  
After a minute of walking, flaming torches suddenly flared up on either side of them, causing them both to jump while Tibbles watched them curiously. Once the initial shock subsided they continued cautiously on their way, steeling themselves against the momentary surprise every time another set of torches burst into flame. The ones behind them were extinguished as suddenly as those ahead were lit. The peculiar lighting trick had a sinister feel to Harry. He was glad to have Ron at his side. But Bella Figg had braved this journey alone.  
  
They encountered several more forks and divisions on their way, but Tibbles II led them easily and without hesitation. At last the Kneazle stopped, because the hallway had ended, unceremoniously and without warning: just a blank wall of soil. "Dead end," said Harry disappointedly.  
  
"We'll have to turn back," said Ron, and stopped. "Hang on- is that a door?"  
  
Harry whirled. Sure enough, in the wall of the passageway was the heavy oak door of his hazy dream. He moved towards it, ignoring Ron's anxious warnings; if it was the door of his dream, he already knew what lay behind it- his own cold corpse.  
  
Unless- the dream unravelled instantly for him. He pushed open the door. He was right; it was the same earthen chamber, with magic manacles fixed to the walls. Like in the dream, Ron moved through the doorway and grabbed Harry's arm. "Look!" he said, pointing to the two small black-robed figures shackled up at the far end.  
  
Harry went towards them, glancing down as he walked. There, under the footprints of uncountable witches and wizards, were the rippling S-shapes of snake tracks.  
  
He turned over the larger figure, and stared at the pale face he now recognized as Marcus McCabe. The lightning bolt scar was misshapen, Harry realized. He rubbed the lightning bolt with his finger and the redness came away on his skin. "Ink," he said aloud.  
  
Ron knelt by the other prisoner and pushed the raven hair away from her face. Alberta Goyle's eyes were closed and she was also ghost-white. Ron felt her wrist frantically and breathed a sigh of relief. "There's a pulse! She's only been Stunned. They must be saving these two for something."  
  
"We ought to wake them- what the hell is that, Ron?" Harry's attention was drawn to a pale blue glowing mist hovering in the corner by the door.  
  
"Enervate," Ron whispered, and both prisoners awoke. Alberta Goyle's eyes fluttered and her mouth moved soundlessly. Marcus woke sobbing. "Don't kill me, please don't kill me..."  
  
"Ron Weasley!" Alberta cried in shock as her faculties returned. She threw her arms round his neck, sobbing. "Ron, Ron," she wailed, voice muffled in his robes.  
  
"Er," said Ron, nervously patting her head.  
  
Marcus stopped groaning and managed to sit up creakily. He looked round. "Ron! Harry! Harry, I failed you, I tried to be brave but I've been so scared!" Tibbles rubbed his head comfortingly on Marcus' knees. "They think I'm you- oh Harry, if I get out of this alive I never want to be you again!"  
  
"Good," said Harry, still not taking his eyes from the strange bluish mist.  
  
Ron used his wand to cut the captives' shackles. Alberta dragged herself to her hands and knees and crawled weakly to Harry.  
  
"That's where they went," she said, nodding at the glowing mist. "It must be some sort of portal, only I've never heard of anything like it. I think they must have invented it just for getting in and out of the castle."  
  
Harry and Ron stared at the mist, then at each other. Ron read Harry's mind.  
  
"Harry, no. Your'e not going in alone."  
  
"I have to," Harry said.  
  
"Who knows where it leads?" argued Ron. "What if you can't get back through? What if it's a trap and they're waiting to ambush you? You can't go!"  
  
"This is how it has to be, Ron!" Harry said. "This is how it's always been! People can watch over me and hold me safely- to a point. After that, I have to go it alone. Don't fight with me, Ron," he warned, seeing Ron start to protest. "I don't want to have to curse you. You knew it would end like this."  
  
Ron stared at him, then surrendered. "It always does."  
  
"You'll take Marcus and Alberta back to where we landed. Tibbles will show you the way. You'll take both brooms- Marcus and Alberta will have to share the Firebolt, but it'll hold them. When you get out take Hermione and find Professor McGonagall or someone, and tell them what happened and where I've gone. Someone will know what to do."  
  
"Harry," said Marcus. He shook his head. "But they'll kill you," he said weakly.  
  
"They haven't yet," Harry said, his throat becoming constricted on the last word.  
  
Alberta kissed his cheek tearfully and took the Firebolt. Ron swallowed hard. "If you don't get out of this one, Harry... It won't be right without you."  
  
"Can't make any promises," Harry said insensitively, but relented seeing Ron tremble. "I'll try my best to be careful." Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the blue mist. 


	57. Confrontation

In the next instant Harry's foot landed on a cold stone floor, followed by the rest of his body; and then he found himself lying in a darkened alcove, staring into the torture chamber of his nightmares.

He got up and instinctively flattened himself against the wall. The tall arch of his alcove was in one corner of the room, and round the corner he could hear voice from the other end. His heartbeat accelerated on hearing his own name.

"Don't force me to give you more Veritaserum! I'll ask you again: where is Albus Dumbledore?" a man's voice demanded.

"I don't know, I've told you I don't," whispered a second man's rasping voice. "How do you expect me to know? No one tells me anything." He sounded bitter.

"You know he's telling the truth! You poured the damned Veritaserum down his throat, didn't you?" cried a woman whose voice lifted Harry's heavy heart. It was the weak but resolute Arabella Figg, and the rasping man must be Severus Snape.

"Shut up, old woman!" the first wizard said angrily. "Crucio!"

Harry jumped at Bella Figg's bloodcurdling scream. He started to move out into the light, but a grey speckled furball suddenly bounded out of the blue mist next to him and ran to rub against his shins, stopping him. Tibbles seemed to be advising patience.

"My wife will be down soon," said the first wizard. "She's been waiting many years for this day."

"So have I," snarled Bella Figg. "That unholy succubus-" and then used several words that Harry would not have expected an prim elderly witch like her to know. The angry wizard performed the Cruciatus Curse on her once more, and again Harry made to leap out into the open as his godmother's agonized scream rent the air; but Tibbles sat on his feet and looked at him severely. The wizard's wife was obviously Maldora Lestrange, so the wizard must be Derrick Lestrange. Both of them, Harry had learned in Defence Against the Dark Arts, were powerful and quick to anger. It would be a mistake for him to think he could overpower both of them, even if he did have the advantage of surprise.

In another moment light footsteps were heard coming down nearby stairs. Harry dared to peer round the corner. Severus Snape was pinned magically to the stone wall, his head held against the wall near the ceiling. Arabella Figg was shackled up like Marcus and Alberta. Both looked weary and in great pain. Bella winced every few seconds at some internal ache, and Snape's eyes were bloodshot. Derrick Lestrange stood before them with wand raised and his back to Harry's alcove, looking healthy and smug.

On Lestrange's left was a heavy oak door like the one in the passageway Harry had just left. The door swung open to admit Maldora Lestrange, who had come down the set of stone stairs Harry saw behind her. She grinned at the prisoners as she drew her wand.

"Well now, what have we here?" she purred. "A traitor," she smiled lazily at Snape, "and an old crone." Her icy gaze rested on her mother. Snape shook his head wearily. Bella stared steadily at her disowned daughter, saying nothing.

"What do you think we should do, Derrick?" Maldora said. "Kill them fast, or slowly?"

"Slow," said Derrick. "Let them writhe in terror."

"For once we agree, darling," Maldora said with a thin smile. Harry observed this curiously, sensing tension between the two Death Eaters. Derrick gazed worshipfully at his wife. Harry saw Bella smile a tiny bit as she noted the adoring look.

More footsteps were heard, heavy steps this time. The door swung open and Lucius Malfoy walked in. Harry froze. Where was this place?

"I thought you ought to know," Malfoy drawled, smiling nastily at Snape, "that less than an hour ago, Albus Dumbledore stepped off a Muggle bus in London." Harry's stomach turned to ice. Snape's eyes widened and the Lestranges grinned. Only Bella's expression remained neutral, though Harry could tell she was fuming on the inside.

"Now the Dark Lord has gone to meet his archenemy in London," Malfoy said, still smiling. "At last his plan is coming to fruition! We have Harry Potter in an earthen prison below his own school, and the great Albus Dumbledore trapped in Diagon Alley."

"The world will be at our mercy," Derrick whispered, sounding awed.

Harry sank to the floor, feeling crushed. Dumbledore would not be expecting Lord Voldemort to show up in London. What if he really was ambushed? Harry's imagination showed him Albus Dumbledore lying dead on the pavement, with Voldemort standing above him, laughing his high cold laugh. He shut his eyes to block it out. He had to pull himself together. Everyone said Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort feared- there had to be a reason for that! Harry had once seen a terrifying power in Dumbledore's eyes; hopefully that intense magical strength would save Dumbledore from Voldemort's surprise attack.

Malfoy glanced round the torture chamber. Harry withdrew behind the wall quickly. "I can see you have everything under control." Harry breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. "I shall see that you are not disturbed. Maldora- Derrick." He nodded to them in turn and swept out.

"Aren't you going to say something droll, Arabella?" Maldora enquired of Bella, who persisted in staring at her silently. Harry and Bella both enjoyed the shadow of annoyance and unease that crossed Maldora's beautiful, strained features. "Why are you doing that?" she demanded. "Trying to think up an escape plan? Don't bother. You won't get away from us this time. Lucius and I worked hard on this house, rigging up silent alarms for anytime an unfriendly hand touched an outer door or window. And we made this whole house a non-Apparation zone."

Of course, thought Harry, of course! This must be the secret chamber under the drawing room in Malfoy Manor in Inverness! The picture of a white snakelike face with red slitted eyes came unbidden to Harry's mind: Lord Voldemort had lived here in hiding, torturing people for his own twisted amusement; Harry had seen it all in his nightmares. The pale blue mist must have been devised specially to allow them access into Hogwarts via the secret underground passage. The Malfoys were a very old family; they could have built the secret passageway into the school eons ago without anyone noticing, and bided their time to put it to use.

"There's no way out this time," Maldora said haughtily.

Bella finally deigned to speak. "I admit that the likelihood of my escaping unscathed is scant to non-existent," she said quietly. Harry's heart sank. She couldn't have given up already! "Yet I remain confident that I can sow a few seeds of discord before you kill me."

Derrick snorted. Bella spoke before he could. "Be quiet, son-in-law!" she hissed.

Derrick choked on his own snickering. Maldora's eyes flashed. "He is not your son-in-law because I am not your daughter!"

"Then why do you want to kill me?" returned Bella. "Your ludicrous motives are still transparent to me. You seek revenge against the witch who bore you because you despise the life you now lead, and you believe it my fault that you went astray."

A shade of panic flitted across Maldora's face.

"Is this true?" Derrick demanded. "Do you regret joining Lord Voldemort? Do you- regret marrying me?"

"N-no!" cried Maldora, but the stammered hesitation told Derrick she was lying.

"So the truth emerges at last," Bella said blithely to Snape.

"Who knows if she ever loved him at all?" Snape replied faintly, with a weak smile.

His effort at levity was sapping the last reserves of his energy. Severus Snape had been in this room for nearly eighteen hours, being constantly interrogated and tortured. He was weak and harboured no secret hope of escape. But if Maldora and Derrick could be coaxed into arguing, then at least Bella Figg, who had remained grimly lively ever since she had popped through the blue mist into a roomful of Death Eaters clustered round Snape, might have a chance to live.

"And who knows what else she's been concealing?" Snape went on.

"Shut up!" Derrick shouted at Snape, raising his wand to use the Cruciatus Curse; but Maldora cried, "Stop!"

Derrick stared at her in wonder. "Stop it," said Maldora, trembling.

"It really is too bad you're not my daughter," Bella continued calmly. "My husband and I would have given anything to have Solange back."

Maldora's lower lip quivered. "You're lying."

"I'm telling the absolute truth," Bella said. "I loved my daughter, no matter how much trouble she got in. We would have taken her back at any time."

"Even now?" Maldora whispered.

"Maldora, what are you doing?" Derrick said, stunned. Harry watched in silent amazement. In only a few minutes Bella had managed to render one Death Eater helpless and confused, and completely demolish the other using only words. Even in high-pressure situations like this, the power of her mere words had astonishing effects. No wonder she had so easily swayed Cornelius Fudge: unlike Dumbledore, Bella Figg had no qualms with telling people exactly what they wanted to hear, and no one was the wiser to whether it was true or not.

Even now as Bella spoke, Harry could see her hands working furiously behind her back, wriggling this way and that. One hand was cut from the deliberate chafing, and the blood was lubricating her wrist. The hand slipped out of her manacle but she held it still behind her back. He smiled; so she hadn't given up yet.

"No, of course not now!" Bella was saying, shaking her head emphatically. "It was a deal offered by two people. When you killed my husband, the deal was off." Her voice turned harsh, and Harry began to see that the weapon of words had a sharper side that could cut deep. "No, I suppose you were right before, you're not my daughter. You're a madwoman on the lam, trapped in a one-sided marriage and counting the days until you can no longer tolerate life."

Maldora screamed in rage, making everyone jump. "You horrid woman! You haven't changed one bit! You bandy with words of promise and allure, only to tell me- tell me-" She began, astonishingly, to cry. "Only to tell me what I already know!"

"Maldora!" Derrick exclaimed, holding his arms out foolishly, but his wife moved away.

"Solange," Bella said with a smile.

"It's all true," Maldora said to Bella, wiping her eyes. "But you too made a mistake- Mother. You miscalculated how much I've thought about this, even if I've never voiced it aloud like you did. I'm still going to kill you, but Derrick will go too." Derrick started forward, eyes wide, and she quickly drew her own wand and held him away with it. The tears had been shed and dried, and she was very matter-of-fact now. "I'm sorry Derrick, but she was right. I don't love you anymore, and I resent having to wait all those years until we could arrange a false death for me so we could be together. You love me more than I love you. I want to be free!

"Just a few more killings, and then I can stop. I want out." They all stared at her. "Yes, that's right. I want to stop this! Once I would have helped your side, Mother. Once I believed that Dumbledore was the strongest wizard the world had ever seen. But Lord Voldemort began to gain power, and I wanted it, so much that I changed my whole life to become his servant. But I'm tired of being a mere weapon at the disposal of whichever side seems the strongest. I want a simpler life."

"Maldora, one doesn't simply walk away from the Dark Lord," Derrick said in shock. "We've spent enough time tracking down and killing deserters to know that."

"I can escape," said Maldora. "I've slipped through the fingers of the Aurors time and time again- I can get away from the Death Eaters. I know all their powers and their limitations. I'll settle down somewhere secret and peaceful, where Lord Voldemort won't find me. Who knows? I may even renounce my magic and try to live as a Muggle. I don't care anymore! You see?" she spat at Bella. "I don't want to be on your side and I don't want to be on Voldemort's side! I'm on my side. Solange looks out for herself!"

"Oh dear," Bella said, for the first time actually looking nervous. Panic began to rise in Harry. "This isn't working out at all the way I'd hoped. Solange- are you sure you don't want to think this over a little bit?"

Maldora grinned. "I have thought it over, for hours and hours. A better life awaits me; so I bid you farewell." Bella stared up at her in horror. Silently Tibbles II slipped off Harry's feet. "Avada-" Maldora began.

Harry leaped out from the dark alcove. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted.

Both Lestranges' wands flew to him and he stuffed them in his pockets. He regarded them challengingly, though he knew he had neither the confidence in his abilities nor the actual magical proficiency to support his attitude.

"Hello," he said, unable to think of anything wittier for the distractingly loud pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

Maldora's hand flew to her heart. "Potter!" she gasped. "How did you escape? You- you didn't chain him properly!" she accused Derrick.

"But I could have sworn I did!" Derrick spluttered. Harry smiled. The less truth they knew, the better.

"Harry! Where have you been?" Bella asked mildly.

Maldora recovered quickly, and swiftly reached out her hand as Harry had expected. Two wands flew out of his pockets to their respective owners, but he managed to hold tightly to his own.

"You're looking well," Maldora said disappointedly. "Aren't you the least bit frightened?"

"Preposterous!" cried Bella. "I taught the boy myself- he fears nothing!"

Harry decided to not refute this grossly untrue statement. Derrick stepped forward. "What, then, would the great and fearless Harry Potter say to a little wizarding duel?"

"He would accept," Harry answered without hesitation. He wondered if they could hear his heart thumping inside his ribcage.

"Potter, you idiot, you'll die," Snape said irritably from the wall.

"With all due respect, Professor Snape, isn't that what you've always wanted?" Harry responded as he walked to meet Derrick in the centre of the room.

"Five paces only, since it's so cramped in here," Bella said. Maldora stood next to her. As Harry took his paces he saw Bella's now free hand poised behind Maldora's ankle, ready to wrench the witch off her feet. She winked at her godson.

"First the bow," Maldora said, smiling cruelly at Harry. The duellers bowed to each other, Derrick with a swaggering confidence, Harry somewhat more warily. "Begin!"

Suddenly Harry had a momentary crisis of self-doubt. "Expelliarmus!" he cried, and regretted it immediately; but fortunately for him Derrick resisted the spell and held onto his wand. The Death Eater grinned triumphantly, malice in his eyes.

He raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted- and was stunned when nothing happened, except-

They all stared at the rubber chicken in his hand.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," Snape murmured to himself. "I never thought the damned things would save my life."

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted. Derrick Lestrange crumpled to the floor.

Harry turned to do the same to Maldora, but she was already raising her wand. Harry felt a wand in his pocket turn into a wooden spoon, and too late he realized he had given Maldora a real wand by accident. But quick as a wink Bella seized her ankle and yanked hard. Maldora shrieked as she fell and Bella grabbed her wand and Vanished her shackles.

Maldora reached out but Bella quickly cried, "Expecto Patronum!" A golden lion bounded roaring from the end of the wand and charged at Maldora, who fell backwards with a screech as the lion ran over her and dissipated. Harry pointed his wand at Snape. "Finito Incantato!" Snape dropped to the floor and lay there, dazed.

Meanwhile Maldora had regained her wand with her hand tricks and was pointing it at Bella.

"Crucio!" she shouted.

Bella began to writhe and scream; but at that moment Tibbles the Kneazle pounced on Maldora's face, causing her to shriek and break the Cruciatus Curse. Bella grabbed for the wand, but Maldora threw it and Tibbles batted it into a corner. Maldora then fumbled for Tibbles' tail and hurled him bodily against the wall, where he lay unmoving.

Harry fired a Stunner at Maldora, but she rolled aside to dodge it. Bella began to crawl across the room to get the dropped wand from the corner while Harry struggled with Maldora. Even unarmed she was a powerful opponent. She made a fast open-handed gesture, slashing the air between them, and Harry felt an invisible hand smash into the side of his head- more wandless magic. He reeled, stars winking in his sight, and Maldora saw that Bella had almost reached the wand and that Harry stood between her and the oak door. Quickly she summoned her wand to her hand, then turned and ran for the darkened alcove.

"Stupefy!" Harry missed by a mere two inches. His spell cracked the wall above Maldora's head as she leaped into the blue mist.

"No!" Harry and Bella both shouted.

"I hope to God someone's watching that secret passageway," Bella said.

Back at Hogwarts Ron, Hermione and the two first-years had left the secret staircase unguarded while they went to fetch help. They had quickly located Professor McGonagall, who immediately went to call for reinforcements.

But in the brief interval of time it took Minerva McGonagall to round up a rescue squad, Maldora Lestrange emerged from the vanishing step and slipped stealthily into the dark halls of the castle.

She fled to the front doors. She was spotted several times on the way, but always managed to defeat her challengers. The Aurors sounded the alarm before they fell, yet by the time help came Maldora had already gone. So the Aurors followed her from one end of the castle to the other. Midway they realized her identity and her intention, and dispatched more Aurors to head her off; but she was too swift for them and slipped through their fingers.

Unluckily for her, however, she missed noticing Argus Filch, who was practising faint wand sparks in the Great Hall. Sitting idly at the Hufflepuff table, he heard a commotion in the Entrance Hall and got up to see a shadowy figure fighting off two other Auror wizards that Professor McGonagall had assigned to guard the front hall. Two strange bright flashes of red light, like the Stunners Filch had read about, took care of her Auror opponents; and the shadowy figure made for the door. Filch panicked, recalling the explicit instructions he had heard Professor McGonagall give to the two Aurors not to let anyone in or out the front doors.

It was all up to him now! He leapt up, raised his wand, and hysterically bellowed the first spell that came to mind.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

The hours of concentrated practice now paid off. Squib or not, the sheer power of Filch's command was enough to send an entire suit of armour flying through the air. It connected with the back of Maldora Lestrange's head and sent her sprawling. She lay motionless on the flagstones.

Filch screamed with glee. The tremendous crash brought Aurors running and roused most of the students. Filch was lauded as a hero by all. A Squib had brought down a Death Eater! And during the slaps on the back and the fervent congratulations, Argus Filch blessed Kwikspell Correspondence Course with all his heart.

In the torture chamber below Lucius Malfoy's drawing room, Harry felt utterly trapped. He could not follow Maldora down the passageway, because he knew he did not stand a chance against her. And Lucius Malfoy might come down into the secret chamber at any moment.

Bella called to him faintly, interrupting his frantic deliberation. "Oh Harry, do come here... I think I'm dying."

"What?" Harry stumbled over and knelt by his godmother, who was lying on the floor, her bleeding hand on her heart. "No!" Harry tried to shout, but his voice came out in a high-pitched stammer. "You can't die! We're- we're going to live in the cottage in Hogsmeade, you and Sirius and I- no- you can't- we- but-"

"Harry, shh, don't get upset. This is the best gift I can give you. All your life you've witnessed violent, abrupt deaths. Now you will see a slow, peaceful one- mine. I'm not going to live through this, Harry. I may be a witch, but an old woman like me can only take so many Cruciatus Curses before this body falls apart. But it's all right. I'm old and I'm tired. I've lived a full life. In death I shall be reunited with my dear husband Faustus."

"To the organized mind, death is but the next great adventure," Harry whispered.

Bella Figg smiled with effort. "Wise words, Harry, but now I need you to listen. I have precious little time- I must pass on some things before I go.

"I've failed Dumbledore- I couldn't catch any of these Death Eaters. Tell him I'm sorry. But remember this, Harry: if you ever need help Dumbledore is the one to ask. I'd have followed him into the very mouth of Hell- we all would. He's the greatest wizard I've ever known- possibly the greatest in history. Just remember that, Harry, when enemies try to convince you otherwise.

"And Sirius, I daresay, will now have plenty of Death Eaters whom the Order will persuade to confirm his innocence. He'll soon be cleared- but he'll have to find himself a home. But I left our cottage in your name- I didn't expect to die so soon. And the law demands that you receive legal ownership of the property only on your eighteenth birthday. Until then- I don't know where you'll live..." Her voice was getting weaker.

"I'll figure it out," Harry said, clutching her uninjured hand tightly. "Sirius will find a place for us." Arabella smiled and touched his face.

"Harry, you're so good. You can't imagine the joy I experienced watching you grow from that tiny scarred baby into a real man. I hope you'll forgive me, but I used you. I used you to convince myself that I wasn't a bad parent, that it wasn't my fault my last girl went the way she did... Was I right? Who can tell? But I know you'll be a powerful wizard one day. Only- pick the right side, Harry. Get your O.W.L.'s, study Defence Against the Dark Arts, become an Auror like your dear parents. Oh, Lily and James would have been- been proud..." She winced at a spasm of pain.

"My time is running out. Now listen carefully. You have no escape plan, do you? Just as I thought- simply barged in here with no thought to how you would leave... Don't you know escaping is the most crucial part of a rescue mission? It's all right. For my last act as your godmother, here is my escape plan."

Her frail hand went to her pocket and she drew out a small purple kidney bean- a Mile-A-Minute vine-pod. Harry, confused, slowly took the vine-pod.

"No one upstairs has heard us, or they'd have come to look," Bella whispered. "You still have the element of surprise. Be as quiet as you can- Lucius Malfoy would kill you soon as look at you. If you touch anything Malfoy will be alerted to your presence, but you'll- you'll manage. Once you're out, run like the dickens. Understand?"

Harry had no idea what she meant him to do, but he said, "Yes." His heart was like lead in his chest. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg. But-" He found he could not continue. What could he say to a witch who was dying in his arms, whose pain he could not mitigate, and whose life it was not in his power to save?

Bella looked at him tenderly. "Don't worry about me, Harry, I'll be with Faustus in a moment." She squeezed his hand feebly. "You'll survive, Harry. I know you'll do well in life. Do you forgive me for deceiving you all those years?"

"Yes."

"And Potter-" Her voice became inaudible. He bent over to hear her.

"Harry- never start a duel with an Expelliarmus. Bad form, you know. Good-bye- I love you." She closed her eyes. The wrinkled white hand went limp. Arabella Figg had died.

Harry wanted to stay and mourn; but every living fibre of his being screamed for action. Bella was right- she had given him a great, albeit peculiar, gift by dying peacefully in his arms. This was the healthiest death Harry had ever seen. It enabled him to contain and control his grief.

Moving as if in one of his dreams, Harry went to wake Snape. "Professor? Are you awake?" he whispered, reaching to touch the inert wizard's shoulder.

Severus Snape was awake, but not alert. He was half-conscious, trapped in a dark and terrifying realm where past and present demons taunted and menaced him; and in the midst of his shadowy turmoil something hazy swam into view before him: a pair of round glasses, a head of tousled black hair.

Snape's havoc-racked mind connected these things with James Potter, a ghost from his past and one of his worst tormentors, and his anguished heart forced forward his hand. Snape suddenly found new strength in his horror at being confronted by this phantom, whom he believed to be the angel of death come to acquire his soul.

"James!" he cried in terror, and took a hard swing at the apparition. The spectre was thrown across the room and hit his head hard on the stone wall. Harry slumped to the floor, blood pouring from the newly opened wound above his ear.

Snape stared blankly. Then as his senses returned he recognized that the being he had hit was not James but Harry Potter. Struggling to his feet, he quickly surveyed the room. Derrick Lestrange was unconscious on the floor. Maldora was nowhere to be seen. A ball of fur- the Kneazle, Snape remembered- was lying motionless but breathing, near Lestrange. And Bella- Snape fell to his knees by her side. She wasn't breathing, and she had no pulse.

Snape went to Harry and gingerly prodded him. "Potter. Potter, wake up."

Harry groaned and opened his eyes. The large green eyes stared at Snape uncomprehendingly through cracked glasses; then he remembered where he was and recoiled from Snape, desperately groping on the floor for his wand. "You!"

"Stop, Potter," Snape said, seizing his arm. "I didn't mean to hit you. It was an accident. I- I'm sorry." He avoided the boy's gaze as he said this. Harry glowered at him angrily. "It was an accident," Snape repeated icily. "What happened to Professor Figg?"

"She died," Harry muttered, touching his bleeding wound. "Maldora did Cruciatus on her and she couldn't take it anymore."

Snape bowed his head and turned to reach for the cold hand of his mentor. "Professor," he murmured.

"What do you care anyway?" Harry snapped as he sat up. "You don't care about anyone!"

"It may come as a blow to your inflated ego, Potter," Snape said coldly, turning back to glare at Harry, "but you are not the only person who viewed Professor Figg in the capacity of parental ideal. She was my mentor, my-"

Harry exploded, "You didn't care about her, you don't care at all what happens to anyone else! You only ever think of yourself, you traitor!" His voice was rising as his anger swelled. Snape had hit him, really hit him with intent to brutalize, and Harry was in a rage such as he had never known before. "You're sabotaging me!" he shouted. "You hate me, you want to see me dead-"

"Be quiet!" hissed Snape, eyes wild. Harry swore and turned away, still furious.

Snape said through clenched teeth, "It's no secret that you have never been my favourite student, Potter, nor has your father been my closest friend; but on no account am I trying to sabotage you or itching to see you hit with a Killing Curse! I want the same thing you do: to see Lord Voldemort fall, for good. If achieving this end means I must work alongside you and your friends, I will do it." Harry glared at him and frowned. Snape seemed sincere if enraged. Snape took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Turn your head, Potter, let me see this horrific injury you've sustained at my hands."

"Why should I?" Harry demanded, holding the side of his head to stem the blood.

Snape was exasperated. "You are not listening! You are never listening! If we must be allies so be it, but that must be a mutual collaboration. We both have to get out of this place quickly and quietly, and to do that we will have to work together." Harry scowled. "Did you happen to hear Lucius Malfoy while you were huddling in the shadows in the corner? Dumbledore is in real danger. I've- we've- got to warn the Order. Now let me see the cut!"

Harry reluctantly took his hand away. Snape reached out to lift the hair away, but suddenly Harry felt a blinding fire slash across his scar. His face went white and he suppressed a scream. Snape drew back quickly. "What?"

"My- my scar," Harry gasped, clasping both hands to his forehead. "It hurts- a lot." His heart was racing. "V- Voldemort is getting angry!"

Snape stood up. "He must have found Dumbledore. They must be duelling at this very moment. Get up, Potter! We've got to get out of here." Harry gasped at another flash of pain searing through his head. "Never mind that! Pain in your scar is a good sign, don't you see? It means Voldemort is losing. That's why he's angry, Potter. Now stand up. Do you have another wand? Lestrange snapped mine."

Harry found Derrick Lestrange's real wand in his pocket and gave it to Snape, who Transfigured Bella, Lestrange and Tibbles II into coins and put them in his pocket. Then, with one hand gripping Harry's elbow, he guided the boy out of the torture chamber and up the stone steps. At the top of the stairs they found a door of polished dark wood. Snape cautiously turned the doorknob.

They stood in the only doorway of an opulent wood-panelled drawing room. Across from the door was an massive fireplace, around which were arranged plush red satin love seats and armchairs. A liquor cabinet stood by the wall to their left, opposite a writing desk. In the wall on either side of the desk were set large windows framed with rich purple drapes. Oil portraits lined the cherry wood panels. To Harry's relief, they were the non-moving sort. Numerous flickering candles from a golden chandelier above their heads illuminated the whole scene.

Snape silently shut the door and moved warily into the room. Harry stumbled to a window and peered outside. He saw rippling grassy moors, wide and green and broken here and there by short green hedges; stretching to the far-off horizons of the enormous star-pierced inky dome. Snape whispered from behind him, "Don't touch anything. Malfoy and Maldora rigged the entire house with magic alarms."

"I know," Harry started to say, but a fresh wave of pain overtook him and he fell to his knees, clutching his scar.

Snape went back to the door and opened it a crack to peek through, then in surprise opened it wide to reveal an wide empty red-carpeted hallway. "What-? Where did those stairs go?" he muttered in bewilderment. He closed and opened the door, to the same puzzling scene. Then he shut it again and turned to Harry, brow furrowed.

"I've been to this house before. I- I confess I knew the torture chamber existed and Voldemort was hiding there." Harry turned on him in outrage, and Snape was only saved from a terrible jinx by a slash of fire in Harry's scar that made him collapse again.

"I know we're in the drawing room at the opposite end from the front door; but the front door might as well be located in Zaire for all the good it does us now. How are we going to escape if we can't touch the external doors or windows? Explode a hole in the wall- that would bring them running. Back through the passageway- Maldora went that way, she could be plotting an ambush..." He ran to the fireplace that dominated the room and searched the ornaments on the mantelpiece. "Blast! No Floo powder."

Harry slowly put his hand in his pocket and drew out the purple vine-pod. Snape frowned. "What is that?"

"Mile-A-Minute vine-pod," Harry murmured. "Grows a hundred metres in sixty seconds."

They looked at each other, then at the fireplace.

"Up the chimney," Harry whispered.

Snape hissed, "Wait!" They both froze. Footsteps sounded behind the closed door. "Someone's coming!"

Instantly they sprang apart, Snape moving behind the bookcases in a flurry of black robes, Harry throwing himself headlong under the writing desk and pulling the chair in behind him.

The doorknob turned and Lucius Malfoy strode into the drawing room from the red-carpeted hallway, shutting the door securely behind him. He turned back to the door and drew his wand, and his cold pale gaze furtively swept the room. Harry shrank down into the shadows. Snape flattened his back against the bookshelf and closed his eyes. Satisfied that he was alone, Malfoy tapped the doorknob three times with his wand and intoned, "Biforis."

When next he opened the door it was to the stone steps going to the torture chamber. Harry stared. Malfoy called down, "Are they dead yet?" Snape shuddered visibly.

Malfoy frowned when there was no answer. "Maldora? Derrick?" He hurried down the stairs, shutting the door behind him with a clap.

Harry and Snape ran to the fireplace. Harry dropped the Mile-A-Minute vine-pod in the grate and held up his wand. After a moment a giant green stem exploded with a rumbling from the ashes and shot straight upwards through the chimney, broad green leaves spangling out on all sides. Snape jumped back, astonished, and stared as Harry muttered "Stirpoterminus" to stop the growth. Then another bout of blinding pain attacked Harry's scar and he fell down with a gasp.

"Come on, Potter," Snape whispered, hauling him to his feet and pushing him into the fireplace. "Malfoy will come looking for us in a second. Start climbing!"

"I am, I am," Harry said, grabbing for a sturdy leaf. He began to climb, and Snape followed closely behind. It was black and stuffy in the chimney; Harry could hardly breathe and could not see anything ahead of him.

Then there came a bellow of rage and a thundering of footsteps that up inside the chimney were muffled and seemed to come from far away. Harry and Snape climbed faster. The two-way door banged open.

"SNAPE!" Malfoy roared. Then he saw in his fireplace the fat green stem that shook with Harry and Snape's movements.

"Oh no you won't!" Malfoy shouted, running to the fireplace. He craned his neck to look up the black chimney. "Snape! Come down here! I shall have to kill you!" He drew his wand. "Snape!"

"Go on, Potter, go on," Snape whispered desperately, "we must be nearly halfway to the top by now-"

"Snape! And-" Malfoy sucked in his breath. "There are two of you in there! It's- it's Potter! He escaped! Lestrange should have just killed him when he had the chance! Avada Kedavra!"

Thankfully at that moment a leaf jogged Malfoy's arm and the jet of green light missed. He wanted to magically fly up and grab them, but the thick stem of the vine took up most of the space in the chimney shaft. Hysterical with rage, Malfoy crawled into the fireplace and began to climb after them. Fortunately, he was a much slower climber, hindered by his apoplexy.

"He's coming," Snape hissed to Harry, "he's coming up below us-"

"I can hear him!" Harry hissed back; and then he gave a muffled scream, because the pains in his scar were splitting his head apart again. Snape shoved him bodily.

"Climb, Potter, just climb, pain in your scar is good, it means Dumbledore's still winning, keep climbi-" Snape suddenly grunted in surprise; a white jet of light had grazed his shoulder and drawn blood. Malfoy was still hexing them from below as he struggled up the vine.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" he cried. He missed, unable to see in the black sooty air.

"Reduc- no, dammit, I can't use the Reductor Curse to blast a hole in the chimney," Snape muttered. "It would blow us to bits as well. Agh!" A red jet of light whistled through his oily hair. "Missed again, Malfoy!" he shouted.

Harry dug in his pockets and threw down everything he had besides his wand. The end of the wooden spoon smacked Malfoy in the eye and he yelped, but quickly recovered and continued hexing.

At the two-way door Narcissa Malfoy was anxiously rattling the doorknob. The door was locked to her because it was still open the other way. "Lucius? What's happening?" she demanded. Muffled screams and crashes were her answer. "Lucius!" she cried, in vain.

Meanwhile, Harry had nearly lost his grip on the vine when Snape began to throttle the vine, trying to shake Malfoy off. Malfoy slid down a few leaves but hung on tenaciously. He pointed upwards at Snape and shouted, "Crucio!"

Snape swung himself aside, and the curse hit Harry instead. Instantly, on top of the blinding pain in his scar, Harry felt like a million stabbing knives were piercing him all over, digging under his skin, attacking every cell in his body. He screamed and scream at the intolerable agony. Harry let go of the vine, and would have fallen on Malfoy had Snape not been blocking the way.

Snape struggled to hold up Harry, cling to the vine, and fire spells at Malfoy at the same time. Luck was with him; his curse hit Malfoy's wand hand and broke the Cruciatus, breaking Malfoy's thumb as well.

Harry was limp and weak. Snape shook him and rasped fiercely in the boy's ear.

"Potter, at any other time I would love to see you grievously injured, and maybe even inflict some of the damage myself. But not now, not now! Forget the pain: pain is fleeting! But death is forever. Keep climbing!"

He was right, Harry thought. Now that the Cruciatus Curse was off, some of the pain was subsiding. His scar stung excruciatingly, but he strove to ignore it. He focused all of his mind on getting out of this stifling black chimney, on fleeing far, far away, and on seeing Ron and Hermione and all his friends again, at Hogwarts. His exhausted arms finally reached up and caught the vine.

"Yes, Potter, climb!" Snape whispered between the curses being exchanged with Malfoy. "I think I see a pinprick of light."

Harry looked up as he dragged himself upwards. There was indeed a minuscule pinprick of light above his head, and another near it, and another. Harry climbed faster towards that square of the night sky. Below him Snape still fought a vertical battle with Malfoy, most of their curses missing their mark in the virtual obscurity. Finally Harry's head came out of the blackness and he looked in weary gratitude across the dark moors of the Malfoy estate. He scrambled up over the lip of the chimney and called down to Snape, "Come on!"

Snape screamed out loud, having been hit with a Cruciatus; but Harry managed to reach down and grab a handful of his robes, and he hauled Snape, gasping and filthy, up onto the roof. Snape scraped at his face, which was coated with a veritable black mask of soot. Harry realized that he himself was also covered in filth. The chimney soot had mixed with the sweat in which he was drenched to create a gritty black mud. He wiped it off his cracked glasses. "What are you waiting for?" he rasped at Snape. "Do a Severing Spell!"

Snape leaned over the edge of the chimney again and pointed the wand straight down, aiming carefully.

"Desectum!" He uttered the spell with grim delight. Malfoy roared, "No!" but the spell hit the base of the Mile-A-Minute vine and hewed it through instantly. Snape magically moved it a little to the side, and the entire vine slid out the fireplace, taking Malfoy down with it. As he wished he had thought of that, the Death Eater hit his head on a protruding brick on the way down and was knocked unconscious.

Snape turned back to Harry, and found him doubled over, being sick on the singles. The pain in his scar had reached its peak and was overwhelming him.

Snape suddenly realized something. "You can't Apparate!" he said, almost accusingly. Harry looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "But I can't leave you here," Snape muttered frantically. "A Portkey? There's nothing to use..."

"Motorcycle," Harry choked out.

"What?" Snape stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about?"

Harry shook his head mutely. He whistled, through cracked and soot-blackened lips, the first notes of "Torquatus Died of Cheesecake Consumption". After a few seconds in which Snape had a sinking feeling that Harry Potter had finally gone mad, a single beam of strong light cut through the clear night sky. Harry smiled. With a rumbling that shook the countryside, the flying motorcycle soared through the sky at an unimaginable magical speed, descended towards them and landed on the roof.

"How- how-" Snape began, and shook his head. "That contraption is Black's, isn't it? No matter. Let's get out of here before that beast flies up the damned chimney." He threw his leg over the motorcycle and helped Harry on in front of him. Then without a backwards glance, they fled into the night.


	58. The New Phoenix

A/N: If you, like me, are daunted by the task of searching through your five books for one name or fact, try the Harry Potter Lexicon. This online reference guide, found at , has been an invaluable tool in writing this particular fanfic and generally in bettering my understanding of the Potter universe. -yamwam  
  
Nearly three days later Harry awoke in a blurry mental fog. He opened his eyes and immediately had to shut them again; there was a window above him and the yellow sunlight hurt his eyes. Slowly he became aware that he was lying in a bed in the hospital wing- Harry had spent too many hours in these hospital beds not to recognize them by feel. His whole body ached, especially his head, and his scar was stinging a little, but that was bearable. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the movements around him.  
  
He had been roused by the sounds of a crowd coming in. They entered with a shuffling of feet and a swish of robes, and their excited whispers reached Harry's ears.  
  
"I remember spending a spell in the hospital wing in my sixth year," reminisced a wizard. "I was hexed off my broom by Arthur Weasley because he saw me flirting with his Molly. I was Prune-Faced for a week- but I forgave him. Lovely brood they've got now, the Weasleys. Crying shame I couldn't attend the, er, you know what, for Arthur this morning. I've missed all of them since yours."  
  
"Well you'll see it now for Snape, won't you, Trimble?" Remus Lupin's voice whispered.  
  
"Too bad though, that Sirius couldn't be here," said the one named Trimble. "We'll have to hurry that Ministry paperwork for dismissal of wrongful charges when we get back to him. But did you see his face when Snape said he'd cuffed the boy, thinking he was James Potter? I see why the Ministry took Sirius for a dangerous felon."  
  
"He's not Severus' greatest fan, to put it lightly," Lupin admitted, and they both chuckled.  
  
Harry chanced a fast blink. A group of witches and wizards were moving past the end of his bed. They were all wearing golden rings on the little fingers of their right hands, Harry noted with interest. His heart leaped. Had they come to induct him into the Order of the Phoenix?  
  
Several crooked piles of books were arranged on the floor round the bed next to Harry. A pair of worn-out sneakers protruded from the end between the stacks. Severus Snape lay on another bed opposite and to the left of Harry's. He was apparently asleep, but his eyes opened when he heard the guests approaching.  
  
"And here's the wizard of the hour now!" Harry heard a witch say. "Snape, how've you been?"  
  
"I am gradually recovering," said Snape's dry voice; though to Harry, it seemed somewhat less cold than usual.  
  
"You certainly look better than you did the other night, covered in grime and blood," a wizard said cheerfully.  
  
"Snape, won't you tell us again about how you and Harry Potter got out of that snake pit, so to speak?" a young wizard piped up. The others chimed in eagerly.  
  
As Snape calmly obliged his guests, Harry rifled through his muddled memories to recall that harrowing episode. He vaguely remembered escaping the obscurity in the long stifling chimney, and flying away through the skies at top speed, with Snape gripping his shoulder painfully and Harry being too weak and in too much pain already to resist. The motorcycle had driven itself back to Hogwarts and delivered its riders safely to the Phoenixes, and Harry recalled being greeted by a lot of shouting from pale anxious faces. Ron and Hermione had been amongst the throng; they had hurried up to him, apparently shouting to ask what had happened; but the pain in Harry's scar drowned out all sounds in a tempestuous cyclade of excruciating fire.  
  
Harry remembered sliding off the motorcycle onto the ground, and being borne away magically before he lost his senses to the pain in his scar.  
  
There had followed a period of blackness, interrupted by no nightmares or strange visions, which evidently had been suppressed by Madam Pomfrey's potion for dreamless sleep. Now he was awake again, but he found himself loathing the thought of having to explain to people what had happened or speak to anyone at all, and he wanted only, unaccountably, to be alone with himself. But more vivid memories were leaping to the forefront of his brain: turning over a cold chained-up body and finding a replica of his own face; feeling a white hand in his suddenly go limp; that unspeakable agony splitting his head in two; the terror he had felt, struggling up that shaking vine into a choking blackness, with a raging villain screaming for his blood below him and a fierce former enemy in between.  
  
So he squeezed his eyes shut and listened to the guests to block out his own fearsome recollections.  
  
"Then Potter started whistling, and I thought the boy had gone mad. I was debating what to do with him when I heard a peculiar rumbling in the sky, and a headlight beam came over the horizon, headed directly for us. It was a flying motorcycle I once saw Sirius Black riding, and I remembered that Black was the boy's godfather, but I didn't have time to ask questions. I simply climbed onto the machine, hauled Potter on in front of me, and took off."  
  
The audience gave murmurs of awe. Harry wished he could open his eyes so he could roll them in irritation.  
  
"Bless my heart! Is that Harry Potter, in that bed over there?" whispered an elderly wizard.  
  
"Yes, Cassius, that's him," said Professor McGonagall's voice. Harry heard them edging closer. "Poppy's expecting him to wake up soon."  
  
"He looks so much like James," whispered a witch. "I don't blame you for confusing them, Severus." The others giggled nervously. Snape coloured and frowned.  
  
"Who are those two sleeping on the next bed?" asked an old wizard. "I nearly didn't see them, they're surrounded by books."  
  
"They would be Mr. Potter's closest friends," Snape said dryly. "They were whispering incessantly all night. I could not get a moment's rest for having to chastise them."  
  
"Ought they, erm, to be sleeping so close together?" wondered the wizard named Cassius.  
  
"No, they should not," declared Madam Pomfrey's voice from the door. The Phoenixes all tittered knowingly. Harry heard her bustle in and make for the bed next to him.  
  
"Wake up! You two have been here long enough! You have O.W.L.'s coming up in less than a month, Professor McGonagall tells me. You ought to be getting back to your common rooms. Come on, get up, get up! You should go study somewhere, you're getting in the way here."  
  
"But Harry could wake up at any second," Harry heard Ron sleepily protest.  
  
"I assure you, you two will immediately be notified when Mr. Potter does wake," Madam Pomfrey said sardonically. "Just sign your names on the waiting list, underneath the Headmaster, the Minister of Magic, the Daily Prophet, and these people here. And why did you clutter my hospital wing with all these books? There is a room for these, Madam Pince runs it. I think the common term is library?"  
  
"No, these are for Harry," Hermione said. "He'll want them. I know he'll be dying to study for the O.W.L.'s." Harry grimaced imperceptibly.  
  
"Sorry to have to kick you out like this," said the wizard Trimble, "but we need a bit of privacy. We have something of great importance to discuss with Professor Snape." Harry's heart sank. Snape? Was he getting into the Order? No, that couldn't be right, Harry told himself. The Phoenixes must be here to get Snape's testimony of Harry's brilliant deeds.  
  
"What is it?" Snape asked, sounding almost eager.  
  
"We must wait for the Headmaster," Professor McGonagall said enigmatically. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, run along now, please. Why don't you go see Hagrid, who just this morning arrived from St. Mungo's?"  
  
Harry almost bolted upright at this news, but controlled himself. The prospect of having to relate to Hermione and Ron the tale of his escapade with Snape was for some reason disagreeable, and he was unsure of whether he wanted them to witness him becoming a member of the Order, so he stayed quiet. Ron and Hermione, however, jumped up immediately.  
  
"Hagrid's back? Why didn't you say that first?" Ron said excitedly.  
  
"You promise you'll tell us when Harry comes to?" Hermione demanded.  
  
"The way talk travels round here, as soon as he opens an eye it will be a headline," Madam Pomfrey said with a sigh.  
  
"Bye Fletch, Lupin, Professor McGonagall! See you later, all you lot I've never met!" Ron said, running out.  
  
Hermione was more curious. "What's going on here?"  
  
"We'd rather not say anything at this time," Lupin said. "Just try to forget you saw us today, Hermione."  
  
"Saw who?" Hermione said cheerily, and ran out after Ron.  
  
"Is that the Weasley lad's girlfriend?" Cassius asked. "What a nice girl." Harry smiled.  
  
"Poppy, don't be offended, but we must ask you to leave as well," Professor McGonagall said.  
  
Madam Pomfrey bristled. "Leave my patients alone? You ask the impossible."  
  
"Poppy, I'm afraid we are firm on this point," said the calm voice of Albus Dumbledore from the door. Feeling an inexpressible relief that Dumbledore was still alive, Harry ceded to the temptation to peek at him. He blurrily saw the tall Headmaster gliding towards them with his purple robes billowing out behind, and a red-yellow blotch perched contentedly on his shoulder: Fawkes the phoenix? Harry shut his eyes before anyone saw him.  
  
"We need only a few moments alone with Professor Snape," Dumbledore said gently. Harry frowned to himself. Dumbledore should be here to wake Harry up to tell him he was in the Order.  
  
"Ten minutes is not very long. Your patients be fine. And if Harry wakes we will call you immediately."  
  
Madam Pomfrey said in surprise, "Why Headmaster- yes, yes of course, Albus, if you really feel such privacy is necesssary... But I'll be back in exactly ten minutes. And do not cause my patients undue stress!" She exited, looking flustered. The Phoenixes left Harry's bedside and clustered round Snape with much whispering and elbowing.  
  
"In the past few months you have shown exceptional bravery, Severus," Dumbledore began calmly. Though Harry did not see it, Snape tremored with anticipation. "You persisted on the dangerous mission you were assigned, infiltrating the Death Eaters' inner circle while completely aware of the immense risk. In the face of danger to your life and those of others you reacted courageously. Your initial objective may have failed, but that was to be expected, and you have nevertheless proven yourself quick thinking, daring, and exceptionally determined.  
  
"For your valourous efforts, it is my privilege as leader of the Order of the Phoenix to invite you, Severus Snape, to become a member of our league."  
  
Harry couldn't believe his ears. He could feign sleep no longer. He sat up and took his repaired glasses from the bedside table, but as everyone was gathered round Snape no one noticed.  
  
Dumbledore went on, "I must warn you that, although it may at first seem like a prestigious award, membership in the Order of the Phoenix is accepted at your own risk. You already know what kind of perils it involves. This is a very dangerous line of work, requiring great amounts of your time and energy, and becoming a Phoenix is a lifetime commitment, however long that may last. Are you prepared to devote yourself completely to a life of hunting and capturing Dark witches and wizards?"  
  
"Yes," Snape replied firmly.  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "Then all that remains is the bestowal of the gold ring, the symbol of our covert organization. But first- give me your left arm, Severus." Snape held it out warily. Dumbledore pulled back the sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on Snape's inner forearm. It was a terrifying red tattoo depicting a skull with a snake slithering from its mouth, that marred the skin of each of Lord Voldemort's servants. "That will have to go," he said decidedly, drawing his wand.  
  
The Phoenixes all began to murmur nervously amongst themselves. The Headmaster began to mutter an incantation and touched the head of the tattooed snake with the tip of his wand, lightly at first, but pressing harder and harder as he whispered the incantation again and again. Snape bit his lip. Dumbledore was intensely concentrated on the black tattoo, which gradually began to change colour and glow white. Snape let out a cry of pain and Professor McGonagall quickly moved to grip his other hand. The glow of the Dark Mark was dazzling, and everyone shielded their eyes but Dumbledore, who still fixed it with his piercing blue eyes and muttered his incantation.  
  
Finally there was a burst of light and a loud hiss, followed by a cry from Snape; and when they turned back to look his forearm was perfectly spotless, as if it had never been sullied by Voldemort's sinister emblem. The Phoenixes made impressed noises, having never witnessed the removal of a Dark Mark before, or indeed realized that such magic was possible. One of the young wizards applauded enthusiastically.  
  
Dumbledore smiled again. "Now hold out your right hand. Fawkes?"  
  
The phoenix fluttered from Dumbledore's shoulder to Snape's outstretched arm. Calmly perched on his arm, Fawkes lifted one black scaly leg and shook it gently. A single narrow band magically slid off one ridged, scaly talon, and lay in Snape's palm. For a moment it was a dull black ring; then it glowed and became golden and lustrous, with a pattern of flames running round the inside. Fawkes flew back to Dumbledore and Snape slowly put the ring on his little finger. It did not shrink into a gold ball, but fitted exactly.  
  
Then Harry exploded. "What do you think you're doing?" he shouted.  
  
Everyone turned to stare at him. "Harry, you're awake!" Lupin exclaimed.  
  
Harry ignored him, staring at Dumbledore, who looked mildly surprised. "You're giving *Snape* the Phoenix ring?" Harry cried.  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Is something wrong with that?"  
  
"But- but-" Harry fumbled in his head for non-swear words. "I SHOULD BE THE ONE GETTING IT!"  
  
"Why?" Dumbledore asked placidly.  
  
"I SAVED THEM!" Harry shouted, so full of vitriolic jealousy that he could hardly see straight. His eyes were wild behind his glasses, which sat askew on his crimson face. The Phoenixes looked at him in fright and astonishment. Even Snape was surprised. Dumbledore remained perfectly calm.  
  
"I figured out where the Death Eaters' secret entrance was! I went in with Ron and rescued Marcus and Alberta, I went alone into that blue misty portal, I knocked out Derrick Lestrange and made Maldora Lestrange run away! And *I*'m the one who gets all the pain in my stupid scar, not any of you and not Snape! SNAPE DID NOTHING!"  
  
Lupin spoke up carefully, "Harry, I don't think you're taking into account- "  
  
"I DON'T CARE!" Harry raged at him, and even good-natured Lupin recoiled in shock. "I DESERVE THE RING MORE THAN HE DOES, AND- and-"  
  
He halted, suddenly feeling light-headed. Then he swayed and clutched his head. The intensity of his outburst was overtaxing his nerves. He fainted as outstretched arms rushed to catch him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Hours later Harry roused himself from a deep stupor. His head hurt, but it was an ordinary headache now instead of scar pains. He slowly raised his head and picked up his glasses again from the bedside table. His other hand felt strange; he looked at it and found embedded in the back of his hand a needle attached to a tube of a luminescent green liquid, which was feeding into a vein. The Phoenixes had all gone, as had Snape, but the heaps of Hermione and Ron's books remained. Harry rubbed his head and groaned.  
  
"Harry?" a familiar voice called from behind a white curtain separating him from the bed on his other side. A large hand yanked back the curtain, and Harry found himself staring at Rubeus Hagrid, whose black-beetle eyes were crinkled with delight, and whose beard, growing again, had quite a few new whiskers but was too sparse to conceal the grin on the giant's face.  
  
"Hagrid!"  
  
"Harry, it's good to see yeh safe and soun' back at good old Hogwarts!" Hagrid beamed, getting up off his tiny cot to crush Harry in a boa constrictor-like hug. He only used one arm, though, his right hand being the only part of him still in bandages.  
  
"Professor McGonagall said that for a while after you arrived the other night, they thought they'd have to send yeh down to St. Mungo's," Hagrid said with a low frightened voice, looking as though Harry were still in mid- peril. "How're yeh feelin'?"  
  
"I'm a lot better now," Harry said as he slowly sat up, ignoring his creaking muscles. "You got back from St. Mungo's this morning, I heard."  
  
"Yeah, and I was glad to get away so soon," Hagrid said feelingly. "Nice enough place, but the food was awful and they forced six differen' medicines on me ten times a day."  
  
Harry looked closely at Hagrid's apparel. "Is that your old moleskin overcoat? I thought it got burned up in the, er, fire."  
  
"No, just a little damaged, but Mrs. Longbottom fixed it up nice for me! Can' even tell it ever was in a, ah, fire. Lovely witch, that Mrs. Longbottom."  
  
"Neville's mum?"  
  
"Yeah, she hasn' quite got all her memory back yet, but her husband Frank's been going round the hospital for the last month visiting everyone and showing off that he can remember things about them. He remembered me dad's name and that I like to cook. They wouldn't let him meet everyone though, because the Order's trying to keep this quiet till they've found somewhere safe for the Longbottoms to live. Dumbledore's still afraid the Death Eaters will find out Frank's nearly ready to start working again and they'll want to finish him off."  
  
"You seem to know a lot about what the Order's up to," Harry said bitterly, flexing his hand experimentally and starting to draw out the needle.  
  
"Don't you touch that, Mr. Potter," warned Madam Pomfrey as she passed by. "That's a sedative potion. You leave that needle where it is."  
  
Harry looked back to find Hagrid looking embarrassed. "What?" he asked.  
  
"I, ah, heard 'bout your flare-up at Dumbledore," Hagrid said timidly. Harry scowled. "Aw Harry, it's understandable, you bein' under so much stress all the time. Sometimes yeh jus' have to let out all your anger at once- but try not to do it at Dumbledore, Harry. He's under a lot of stress too." He paused and smiled because Harry's scowl was dissipating and he now looked contrite.  
  
"I feel like a stupid git," Harry said. "It was childish to say all those things. I don't know what I was thinking. They'll never let me into the Order now."  
  
"You wanted badly to get into the Order, that's all. I know what it's like to want to prove yourself and feel like you've failed. Yeh get full of this rage, and it makes yeh see red, and you don't know what you're sayin' till it's too late. When somebody gets like that it's best to stay out of their way." Hagrid smiled ruefully. "But the Phoenixes won't hold it agains' yeh- they're not like that. You'll still have a good chance later, when you're a fully qualified wizard."  
  
"Me?" Harry said. "What about you?" Hagrid suddenly flushed pink and looked at his feet, and Harry understood. "You're a Phoenix now," he said, feeling his face grow hot. "Of course. Everyone is in but me."  
  
"Don' be mad, Harry," Hagrid pleaded. "But this afternoon a messenger came from the giants. Their chief's finally agreed not to join with You-Know- Who, I think because they're more scared of Dumbledore than You-Know- oh all right, V-V-Voldemort. We shook on it, see this?" He grinned and held up his bandaged right hand. "And then Dumbledore tol' me how proud he was o' me and his phoenix gave me a gold ring." He took the ring carefully out of one pocket of his coat and beamed at it.  
  
Harry smiled woodenly. "Good for you, Hagrid."  
  
Hagrid put away the ring, looking at him anxiously. "You're not mad at me, are yeh?"  
  
"No," Harry lied.  
  
"And you're not still mad at Professor Snape? Harry, I believe you about how much you did down in that secret chamber, but Snape's been workin' hard too. You didn't have to go to all those Death Eater meetings and stand up to all those sneerin' faces, all the threats and everythin', or struggle with bein' tortured and trying to stay loyal to Dumbledore without anybody knowin'.  
  
"I know yeh had a lot of nightmares about it, I believe you," he added, holding up a hand as he saw Harry start to argue. "But you're still only a student. Yeh haven' even had your O.W.L.'s yet. Snape's a fully qualified wizard. The Order couldn't take a student, not even a courageous Gryffindor like you." Hagrid smiled kindly and Harry felt his annoyance fading.  
  
"Wait till yeh start really studyin' Dark-wizard catching, and yeh'll see it's not about what you can do, or why you should ever do things alone; it's about teamwork and cooperation, even if yeh think you're takin' a bigger risk than everyone else. Sometimes there're things yeh gotta do yourself, like walkin' into a Death Eater meetin' place or travellin' into the mountains to talk diplomacy with a colony of giants three times your size; but the important thing in the Order is that everyone matter equally, and that the rest of the Phoenixes are behind yeh all the time." Harry was quiet, gazing at him thoughtfully.  
  
"When yeh've learned that, Harry, then maybe we can talk again," Hagrid continued gently. "But for now let's leave it. Alicia Spinnet wants to know, how soon can yeh get back on a broomstick? The final match is only a week and a half away and you're playin' Slytherin." 


	59. The End of the Year

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed the story. Thanks for reading, and please review afterwards. –yamwam

Two days later Harry was able to leave the hospital wing. Alicia immediately hustled the Gryffindor team out on the pitch for practice, and repeated the action every day afterwards. Though they were somewhat rusty, they pulled themselves together quickly, and were soon prepared for the final match for the house Quidditch Cup.

Slytherin played exceptionally well, matching every goal that Gryffindor scored, until the houses were deadlocked at 90 points; but at last the Golden Snitch was spotted, and the two Seekers gave chase. The crowd screamed, gasped and cheered as Harry and Malfoy raced up and down the pitch in pursuit of the Snitch, striving with arms extended to push each other aside and catch the Snitch first.

Harry almost despaired; Malfoy had an excellent control of his broom, and had had more time to practice recently than Harry. They were both brilliant fliers, but Harry knew he had sharper eyes than Malfoy. Malfoy lagged somewhat because he relied on Harry to follow the Snitch while he followed Harry. Finally Harry, pretending he saw the Snitch, flew straight at the ground and then suddenly rolled over and wrenched himself hard upwards while Malfoy, unable to stop, smashed hard into the ground.

"Potter performs an amazing variation on that classic Seeker manoeuvre, the Wronski Feint!" shouted Lee Jordan. "Malfoy is out cold! Potter shoots forward- he's grabbing for it- he got the Snitch! Gryffindor wins the House Cup!"

Malfoy was livid when he woke up, and shortly afterwards had much more to be furious about. The Daily Prophet was given a (carefully edited) version of the other night's events, including the death of Arabella Figg, the capture of both Lestranges, Harry Potter's involvement, and the fact that all of these sordid proceedings had taken place in Malfoy Manor, though the exact room was not given. The students were flabbergasted: had Harry Potter been telling the truth all along? All signs now pointed to Harry not being completely mad, as Daily Prophet articles and Ministry statements had initially depicted him.

There were no overt apologies, but Draco Malfoy was clandestinely booed behind his back by all the other students, and Harry quietly extolled for his bravery. People hissed Malfoy when he passed them in the halls, and many grudgingly begged Harry to tell them what had happened down in the torture chamber. He was only able to avoid having to explain everything by pretending he was bound by higher authority (everyone guessed Dumbledore) not to breathe a word. But he put it into his Pensieve and reluctantly let Ron and Hermione wander through his memory so they would understand. When they emerged Hermione burst into tears, and Ron was white and shaking.

Not only did the Daily Prophet print those real facts, but they were also given a (carefully edited) account of Lord Voldemort's appearance in London on the same night. (Dumbledore would not reveal everything, not even to all the members of the Order. When Snape arrived at Hogwarts and alerted the Phoenixes to Voldemort's ambush plan, they had hastened to London in a trice, and found Diagon Alley almost utterly wrecked. It seemed like a hurricane, a tidal wave, and an earthquake had all passed through Diagon Alley at once, though most of the buildings were still standing. There was not a soul on the street, until the Phoenixes found Dumbledore sitting on the cracked steps of Gringott's Bank, Fawkes perched on the crumpled and scorched ruin of the Headmaster's pointed hat, both of them calmly eating lemon drops. Dumbledore had looked at the Phoenixes and said mildly, "What took you so long?")

The actual information provided to the newspaper only took three paragraphs, but the agitated editorial comments, letters to the editor, and backstory of Dumbledore and Voldemort's enmity took up seventeen pages.

But the wizarding community was staggered. After months of being spoon-fed Ministry propaganda, they were being bombarded with the honest, albeit incomplete, truth. Even Fudge reluctantly left off hiding in his office with the curtains drawn, to issue a (carefully worded) statement about the outstanding work of Ministry officials in chasing Voldemort away- though everyone who heard of the incident knew immediately that Dumbledore was the Dark wizard's only true opponent.

Few were given the full story, as Dumbledore wished to keep the details within a small circle; but he had agreeably related the entire tale of his duel with Voldemort to Cornelius Fudge and thus frightened the Minister of Magic into docile submission. Fudge was so afraid of losing his post to this wizard who was obviously infinitely more powerful than him that he agreed to everything Dumbledore requested. The Order of the Phoenix would be well-provided for until its voluntary disbandment.

Arabella Figg was buried in a grassy knoll at the northern end of Hogwarts property. The Daily Prophet ran a two-page article on her exploits and achievements, fortunately failing to notice that she had given birth to the vile Maldora Lestrange, now occupying Vault 697 far below Gringotts Bank. Fudge happily awarded Bella Figg a posthumous Order of Merlin, Second Class. Her funeral was meant to be private, but hundreds of students, Phoenixes, former Ministry colleagues, and fans showed up and demanded entry. Minerva McGonagall gave the eulogy, and spoke very movingly of her friend; but she broke down in tears mid-speech and had to be helped off the dais by Phyllida Spore.

The reading of the last will and testament was held a few days later. Arabella Figg's two oldest children were naturally heavily favoured, but Minerva McGonagall and Harry Potter also received small fortunes. Ron was bequeathed the Feather-Light broomstick and a minor legacy; and Hermione got first pick of the witch's extensive library, with strict cautions not to forget that there were more important things in life than studying. Harry noticed that Hermione and Ron held hands for most of the interview.

In addition to a pile of gold, Harry was left the cottage in Hogsmeade, though since the law prohibited the ownership of property by minor wizards, he could only legally inherit the deed on his eighteenth birthday. Sirius Black, now completely cleared of all charges, agreed to appeal to the Ministry of Magical Territory to have the deed given to him. A clause in tiny letters running up the side of the will also warned Harry, rather embarrassedly, that control of his arrears fan mail would revert to him on her death. This explained, for Harry, why one morning in the hospital wing he had received a furious letter from Vernon Dursley raging about finding the postman trying to wedge thirty-seven huge sacks of letters and packages into the mail slot.

Lucius Malfoy was harshly rebuked by his master for his failure and left to fend for himself. He remained silent to the questions of the Daily Prophet, and refused to come to the Ministry offices to discuss his involvement; so a delegation of Phoenixes was dispatched to collect him, with force if necessary. Quentin Trimble headed the operation, and Harry had an opportunity to formally meet this old friend of Arabella Figg's, because Trimble decided to trap Malfoy in his own evidence and see how he reacted. He and Lupin took Harry to Malfoy Manor in northern Scotland, while Ron led Quintius Croaker, Cassius Egg, and Sirius Black, now a full-fledged Phoenix, down through the vanishing step (which had now been sealed off from use) and through the dark passageway.

When Lucius Malfoy opened his door and found two Aurors and Harry Potter standing on his front steps, Harry dearly wished he had thought to bring a camera. The look of apoplectic rage on Malfoy's face caused them all much delight.

"Get out of here," he barked, starting to shut the door, but Trimble whipped out his wand and barged his way in.

"Good morning to you too, Malfoy," he said pleasantly, clearly enjoying himself. He closed his eyes and twitched, then twitched again, and opened his eyes. "Just as I thought, an anti-Apparation zone, highly illegal of course..." He conjured a clipboard and ticked off a box, shaking his head disapprovingly. "You'd think a clever villain like you would at least think to hide the evidence! Or do you not know how to remove the spell?"

He held out a paper. "We have a warrant from the Minister of Magic to search these premises top to bottom. Seems Fudge has forsaken you, too. Forgot to pay him the weekly bribe, a pile of gold, a new wing at St. Mungo's?"

Malfoy snatched the paper and scanned it furiously. "This- this is an obvious forgery!" He tried to tear it up, but it had an Anti-Rip Charm on it.

"Don't you wish it were?" Trimble said amiably. He looked up as an imposing, snooty-looking blonde witch came to the top of the grand staircase behind Malfoy. She saw who stood in her foyer and tried to turn back, but Trimble called out, "Why, Mrs. Malfoy, how marvellous to find you at home! Would you be so good as to conduct us to the drawing room, or will I have to break a few lovely slender fingers?" He winked at Lupin.

Narcissa Malfoy, after casting a helpless glance at her furious husband, slowly descended and led all of them through red-carpeted hallways to the back of the house, stopping at a door that looked familiar to Harry. "Here it is," he said to Trimble.

They went in, the Malfoys included, and shut the door behind them. Lucius Malfoy protested about invasion of privacy and unfounded accusations, but was shocked into wide-eyed silence when Harry performed the secret spell on the door, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his white face when Ron popped his head out the door, followed by several Aurors. "Nice place," Ron said, looking round. "Does Draco Malfoy really live here? What a shame. He must really slime up the furniture."

At first Lucius Malfoy outright denied foreknowledge of the torture chamber; when that tack failed he tried to pretend he was only just shaking off an Imperius Curse from Voldemort. Ron and Lupin observed in mild astonishment, while Harry barely managed to keep from hexing Malfoy because Sirius was trodding warningly on his toes. Trimble thought the whole thing was fantastically banal, and told Malfoy so before springing a bunch of magical ropes on him and telling him he was under arrest. After Trimble had warned him that this damning evidence, added to the fact that his fellow Death Eaters had already sold his name to the Ministry, could mean a Dementor's Kiss if Malfoy refused to cooperate, the Death Eater finally surrendered, defiant and snobbish to the last as he gathered up the last shreds of his dignity.

"All right. I have been Voldemort's loyal servant for many years! I am not abashed. I am but one of his innumerable servants, and many will eagerly take my place if you try to destroy me!"

"You do know, don't you, that his ambush on Albus Dumbledore failed?" enquired Sirius. He smiled. "The duel was over almost as soon as it was begun. Voldemort fled at the mere sight of Dumbledore."

"As everyone expected," remarked Cassius Egg, placidly leaning on his cane.

"He'll try again!" shouted Malfoy. "And he will succeed! You will all be dead, you, and you- and especially you!" he hissed, glowering at Harry. "Harry Potter, you first, and the most horribly of all! I should have killed you myself when I had the chance, instead of waiting for the Dark Lord so he could do it personally!"

"Shut your filthy mouth, Malfoy," Sirius snapped, stepping in front of Harry.

"I can't believe anyone could even consider that you, Sirius Black, could be worthy of any association with the great and powerful Dark Lord," Malfoy sneered hatefully.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry noticed Narcissa Malfoy's white hand creeping towards her pocket. "Hey!" he said, staring at her, and in an instant twelve wizards were pointing their wands at her.

"Expelliarmus," Cassius Egg said. Narcissa Malfoy shrieked as her wand flew from her hand, and she collapsed into a plush armchair, looking frightened.

"Stop it!" Malfoy snapped. His wife stared at him. Malfoy said quietly, "She was not involved in any of this. I acted alone of my family."

"We'll still need to ask her a few questions about her beloved spouse's appointments," Trimble said pleasantly. He raised his eyebrows and Cassius Egg took Narcissa out of the room.

"You're investigating my family?" Malfoy shouted. His pale eyes flashed. "What about your own precious Arabella Figg?"

"What about her?" Trimble asked calmly. Harry felt a twinge of panic, and was about to intervene, but Malfoy spoke quickly.

"Surely you know that she's the mother of the notorious Maldora Lestrange," he said. "Surprising that she was made a member of your Order, when she couldn't even stop her own daughter from joining our side!"

Trimble stiffened. He had not known this. Neither had Croaker or Lupin, from the looks on their faces. Heartened by their horrified reaction, Malfoy continued maliciously, "If I'm to go down, I'm taking her with me! I still have a powerful influence. By tomorrow the whole of wizarding Britain will know about Arabella Figg's sordid ties! Blood is everything in the magical world! I can see that Order of Merlin, Second Class flying out the window... Oh, how I shall relish defaming that old crone!"

"You will not," Harry said fiercely, pushing Sirius aside.

"Worm! Maggot! This does not concern you!" Malfoy hissed, straining against his magical bindings.

"Arabella Figg was my godmother, and I will not let you drag her name through the mud," Harry responded, fingers twitching toward his wand. "If you even try I'll do the same to you in a second, and it'll destroy your entire ancestry."

Malfoy laughed. "What could you possibly know about me, you pathetic half-blood lunatic?"

"Half-blood, am I?" Harry snapped. "What about your own son?"

"Draco? What about him?" Malfoy said scornfully, sounding like Trimble a moment before. "Going to accuse him of being a Squib?"

"Worse," Harry said. Ron and Sirius exchanged puzzled glances, while Lupin watched Harry closely, straining to hear the quiet exchange.

"Don't say you don't know what you married into," Harry said softly.

Malfoy went rigid. He knew Harry was referring to Narcissa Malfoy's vampire ancestry. "I do not know what you mean," Malfoy said coldly.

"Isn't it true Draco's blood isn't as pure as he says?" Harry said, and he saw Malfoy's aplomb waver. "Does your wife think the same way about blood being everything?"

"Stop!" Malfoy shouted, and Harry fell silent with a defiant smile. "You- you wouldn't dare," Malfoy snarled.

"Wouldn't I?" Harry said contemptuously. "Why wouldn't I want to use this to get revenge on the Malfoys, the family who since they found out I existed have done nothing but plot against me? Who've tried so many times to destroy me, both personally and indirectly?"

"He forgot to say they're the scourge of the earth," Sirius whispered to Lupin, who tried not to smile.

"What do you say to that?" Harry said to Malfoy, eyes narrowed. The Death Eater only glared at the floor in sullen silence. "You just keep your fat mouth shut then," Harry spat savagely.

Malfoy raised his head. "You little sh-"

Trimble brought up his wand and sealed Malfoy's lips with a zipping noise. "Well that's rather enough of that!" he said cheerfully. "Take him away!"

When Harry returned to his regular classes, he found several changes. Remus Lupin took over the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Lucius Malfoy having been the only person on the Board of Governors who objected to a werewolf teacher. But the real surprise awaited the students in Divination. The fifth-year Gryffindors entered their classroom cautiously and found it unchanged, so they seated themselves on the pouffes, just in time to scream when Professor Trelawney, see-through and silver, sailed up through the floor.

"Professor!" Lavender shrieked. "You're- you're-"

"A ghost," Professor Trelawney said dreamily. She floated round the room, passing through Neville and Dean, who shivered, half from the icy feeling that comes from touching ghosts and half from disappointment. "I could not pass on to the next world because I did not feel that my purpose in life had been fulfilled. I- I must admit that I was rather unhappy during my corporeal life. I was unsatisfied with my meagre triumphs. Perhaps it was that which led me to choose this silhouette of myself over death. I have an entire afterlife to perfect my art!" She spread her diaphanous arms and soared gleefully over their heads. Harry and Ron exchanged appalled looks.

"You see, I was right, wasn't it?" she crowed, stopping above Harry and peering down at them through his huge magnifying glasses, whose translucency now matched her skin. "Do you not recall my saying that one of our number would leave unexpectedly? And did I myself not die a precipitate death? But it could have been any one of you!" she cried, staring directly at Harry, who sighed.

Severus Snape carefully avoided speaking to or looking at Harry for the rest of the term. In class Harry refrained from answering questions, but silently seethed every time Snape's gold ring flashed in the dim dungeon light. Snape was also fairly cold towards Draco Malfoy. Snape's name had been withheld from the newspaper articles and few knew of his participation in that night's events or of his consequent induction into the Order. But Draco Malfoy knew whose testimony had been key in the incarceration of his father, and was torn between maintaing his toadying manner and declaring outright war on the wizard who was, after all, his Head of House. In the end he chose to comport himself with perfect, albeit icy, courtesy towards the Potions master; but there were times when Harry saw Malfoy's eyes flash dangerously at Snape, and knew that unless Draco's loyalty could be bought by the Order, their troubles with the Malfoys were far from over.

Four weeks after Bella Figg's death, the fifth-years sat their O.W.L. exams. The infirmary had recently been flooded with wailing fifth-years all complaining of the same symptoms: upset stomach, eye fatigue, excessive and inexplicable fright, occasional fainting; Madam Pomfrey simply laughed in their faces, labelled their mysterious disease O.W.L. anxiety, and sent them back to the library.

Harry found that not even a brush with death had diminished his fear of the O.W.L.'s; after all, if he was to study Defence Against the Dark Arts and become a real Auror so he could join the Order of the Phoenix, he would need as many of his O.W.L.'s as possible, probably even in Divination. But he came out quite well at the end, he thought. He managed to remember Summoning and Banishing Charms; he brewed a perfect Confusing Concoction but baffled his examiner into giving his marks to Neville Longbottom; he put a splint on the broken leg of a Hippogriff in Care of Magical Creatues, with minor injuries. He Transfigured an iguana into a flowery glass vase, but got points taken off when the O.W.L. official noticed the flower patterns were actually scales. He caused his Patronus stag to charge down his Defence Against the Dark Arts examiner, who exclaimed "Splendid!" and gave him bonus marks. He described in detail the calculation of the lunar parallax in Astronomy; and in trying to be as mysterious as possible in Divination, he predicted a gruesome and early death for his examiner, feeling very sly as he cited the cause as termites, and not noticing the two wooden legs attached to the unamused wizard's torso until it was too late to rearrange the Tarot cards.

Later that day, still in a panic about that incident, he forgot everything he'd ever learned about History of Magic, and only invented a few goblin rebellions and hoped they were as lenient as Professor Binns. When asked on that particular exam for two feet of parchment on the wizard in history whom he most admired, however, Harry did not hesitate to write a long essay on Albus Dumbledore. Later he found out that most of the others had chosen the exact same subject, though apparently not everyone thought Dumbledore was the most admirable wizard in history: Draco Malfoy had written at least three feet on the righteous principles upheld by Salazar Slytherin, Hermione reported (having "accidentally" glanced at Malfoy's essay while handing a pile of exams to the examiner).

"Honestly, he's taking this pureblood thing much too far," she sniffed to Harry and Ron. What Harry gleaned from this was that Draco still believed himself pureblood, and therefore still did not know of his deplorable lineage.

Some hours after their last exam, Harry and Ron were called to Dumbledore's office, where they found Mundungus Fletcher, looking pale and drawn, and somewhat grim.

"Hello Harry, hello Ron," he said, not without warmth; but he was not his usual booming jovial self. "I've come to say good-bye."

"Why, where're you going?" Ron demanded.

"What haven't you heard?" Fletch held up a Daily Prophet from two days ago. Harry had not been keeping up with the news recently, being preoccupied with his O.W.L. exams, so it came as a shock to see the headline 'DEATH EATER ESCAPES BY PLAYACTING' emblazoned on the front page, above a picture of a sombre-looking Dumbledore conferring with Cornelius Fudge, both impatiently waving away the photographer.

"Perdita Clemens' sister Emily has escaped," Dumbledore said quietly. "She somehow broke out of Gringotts Bank, where we were holding her in a high-security vault. She was to receive the Dementor's Kiss that afternoon, but in the morning the goblins heard her through the door, apparently speaking to another Death Eater. Fearing a breakout, they opened the door to check on her, only to find she had been acting the part of both voices. She overpowered them using wandless magic and escaped into the tunnels."

"There are very few passageways out of the underground tunnels, but it looks like she got lucky," Fletch said. "The dragons' bellies are empty and we've found no trace of her in the giant pits of lava or the various other traps. But I will find her, Albus, I promise you that. It's almost inconceivable that she was able to sneak under my nose for so long, the conniving little wretch. I'll be heading the search for Emily Clemens right after I go to Maldora Lestrange's trial tomorrow afternoon. I'm testifying," he added, forestalling Harry's next question. "My original wish, of course, was to throttle her in cold blood, since Snape's told me it was she who murdered Perdita. But now the Ministry's got her locked away from me, so the best I can try for is the Dementor's Kiss."

He gave a queer smile. "We've never had to put a Dementor on a Figg before. Don't know how well it'll go with her, the Figgs being somewhat immune to the Dementors. But if it does work- well, it's what she deserves, isn't it?" He emitted a short, quiet laugh that put a worried expression on Ron and Dumbledore's faces. But Harry knew exactly how Fletch felt; revenge was not an easy feeling to repress, even for the sake of public image. He smiled at Fletch.

"We were really sad about Perdita, Fletch," he said. "You didn't answer any of our owls."

"We were worried about you," said Ron. "Fred and George even sent you a letter of condolence- a sincere one! Fred and George were being sincere, Fletch!"

"I was wracked by guilt and sorrow," Fletch said testily. He sighed. "The days after her passing were dark indeed. I was constantly plagued by doubt. I wondered- what if I hadn't left her side that night? Would she be alive now? Or would I be dead too? It seemed like it was entirely my fault. For a while I considered really drinking a bottle of Skele-Gro, just to be with her again."

"Fletch," Dumbledore said, stunned.

"I know, Albus, that's the coward's way out. That's why I didn't do it. 'Look,' I said to myself, 'what if you really do meet Perdita on the other side and she doesn't want you anymore because you took the easy way out instead of facing your demons like a man?' So I'll do what she would have wanted of me. I'm keeping my job and my ring." He twisted, with his left thumb and index finger, the base of his right-hand little finger, which suddenly glowed gold as the Phoenix ring appeared.

"If I die in the line of duty, so be it- I'll die fighting." Fletch smiled sadly. "'Tis better to have have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,' right boys?" He shook hands with each of them in turn. Harry felt the missing finger as Fletch's large hands clasped his clammy one. "I'll be seeing you, Albus," Fletch said; and to Ron and Harry he said, "Listen, if the bloody both of you and that friend of yours Hermione don't all become Aurors, I'll hunt you down and wring your necks, you talented little buggers. So long." He walked out.

Only a few minutes after Fletch left, there was a sharp rapping on the door. "Come in," said Dumbledore.

Sirius Black burst into the room. "Today," he shouted, "I am a free man!" He ran in and hugged everyone in turn. "I have been officially cleared of all allegations!"

"Congratulations, Sirius," Dumbledore said warmly.

"Is this really happening?" Sirius asked. "I can't believe it. A little part of me is still seeing those slimy black walls in my old cell in Azkaban. Freedom is positively surreal."

"I know how you feel," Harry said. "It's almost too good to be true. I keep thinking Aunt Petunia's going to knock on the door of my cupboard and tell me to come cook the breakfast! I'm finally getting away from Privet Drive!" Ron and Harry laughed out loud, but Sirius and Dumbledore looked at each other in consternation.

"You didn't tell him?" Sirius said.

"I thought it best that the news come from you," Dumbledore said.

"What news?" Harry said slowly.

Sirius looked at him gravely. "I've just come from Privet Drive. I had a chat with your aunt and uncle. You- you won't be moving out of their house."

"What?" Harry said very loudly. Sirius looked helplessly at Dumbledore.

"Harry, the magic that protects you from Voldemort is a very special kind of magic," Dumbledore said. "Your mother's dying to save your life infused the blood in your veins, her blood, with this ancient magic. The magic in your blood is indeed what has made your survival thus far possible. We do not fully understand the effects of this magic, but what we do know about it is that since this same blood in you is in your mother's sister, it also protects her. But- and this is the crucial part- but the protective link exists only if you are together, calling the same place home. If you move away from Privet Drive and your aunt, the link will disappear and you will be as vulnerable to Voldemort as anyone else." A/N: Yeah, I took this directly from the book.

Harry looked at him, then at Sirius. "I can't leave Privet Drive? Ever? I'm stuck there for the rest of my life?"

"Not necessarily," Sirius said, glancing at Dumbledore again. "This blood magic is protecting you against Voldemort. If you eliminate him, then you wouldn't need the magic."

"So if Harry wants to get away from Privet Drive, he has to- eliminate- Voldemort?" Ron said. Sirius nodded. Ron gazed dispiritedly at Harry. "Looks like you're stuck there then."

"Ron's right! How am I supposed to kill an immortal wizard?" Harry demanded.

"We do not know for certain if Voldemort is immortal," Dumbledore said calmly. "But even if he is, there may yet be ways of destroying him." His blue eyes glinted with the same strange triumph Harry had seen there when he had been telling Dumbledore about Voldemort's resurrection.

"Where are you going to live then?" Ron asked Sirius. "Did you get Professor Figg's house in Hogsmeade?"

"No, I didn't want it," Sirius said. "Now that Bella's passed on, Harry will need his remaining godparent to stick close and watch out for him." He grinned broadly. "Didn't I say what I was doing at your aunt's house? I put on a new bedroom. I'm going to live there."

Harry stared at him for a full ten seconds before letting out a strangled scream. Sirius shouted in glee and grabbed Harry for a tight embrace, while Ron danced excitedly round the room. Even Dumbledore lost some of his gravity and conjured a shower of confetti and purple ribbons.

They were celebrating so loudly they missed the first knock at the door, but heard the second. "Ahem- come in," Dumbledore called, straightening his hat and Vanishing the confetti.

Marcus McCabe opened the door timidly, walking in ahead of Professor McGonagall, who looked like she had just downed a Confusing Concoction of her own. Marcus had undergone a massive transformation since the last time Harry had seen him. The red ink scar had been washed off his forehead and the glasses had been discarded, leaving a clear view of the wide brown eyes. His hair was blond now, suiting his face much better than the jet-black tangles that formerly topped his head.

"Headmaster, young Mr. McCabe has a very- unusual request," Professor McGonagall began, looking thoroughly rattled. "Perhaps you'd better repeat to Professor Dumbledore what you just asked me, Mr. McCabe."

"I- I'd like to switch houses," Marcus said nervously.

Dumbledore started and peered at Marcus through his half-moon spectacles in surprise. Sirius jumped and Harry and Ron exchanged stunned looks. There was a loud, vexed clamour from the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses on the walls.

"Now see here, you impertinent boy, no one's ever switched houses in all of Hogwarts' history!" shrilled a medieval witch draped in purple velvet.

"What is so wrong with our house, young man?" demanded a short wizard with an obvious comb-over, who was posed before a backdrop of the Gryffindor crest.

"Nothing!" Marcus said hastily. "I- I just don't belong in Gryffindor. I think I belong in Slytherin."

Harry was rendered momentarily speechless, but Ron yelled loud enough for both of them, "Slytherin? What do you want to go into Slytherin for? You're a Gryffindor!"

"Mr. Weasley is right, the Sorting Hat did place you in Gryffindor," Dumbledore agreed.

"Only because I begged it to put me with Harry Potter," Marcus said. "It really wanted to put me in Slytherin."

"It's true," spoke up the Sorting Hat suddenly from a nearby shelf. "McCabe had Slytherin in his heart, but Gryffindor in his head. I did what his mind asked me."

"This is an unprecendented request," Dumbledore said, placing the tips of his fingers together and fixing Marcus with his piercing stare. "Why do you want to change houses, and why now of all times? You will have to make new friends and learn about a whole new house."

"I haven't got any friends left in Gryffindor because I already have made friends in Slytherin," Marcus said desperately. "I think and act like them, not like Darius or Niamh. Spending a year following the real Harry Potter around made me realize how unlike him I am, and that I can't avoid my true nature by painting scars on my face or wearing stupid glasses- sorry Harry, no offence," he said quickly.

Seeing Dumbledore arch a skeptical eyebrow, Marcus pleaded, "Please Professor, doesn't the fact that I'm here asking for this show Slytherin ambition to better use my talents?"

"Perhaps it shows Gryffindor courage in the face of insuperable odds," replied Dumbledore.

"No please Professor, I haven't got much of that!" Marcus exclaimed.

Dumbledore was shaking his head. "If you switched, the number of students in each house would be unequal. It would be unfair to let Slytherin tip the balance."

"I knew you'd say that, I even found someone to switch with," Marcus said excitedly. "He's not in my year, I know, but he wants to change to Gryffindor quite badly, he-"

"Found someone to switch with?" Dumbledore interrupted, leaning forward in surprise. "Who?"

Suddenly the door banged open. Professor Snape stormed in, pushing Malcolm Baddock ahead of him. "Headmaster, you will not believe the absurd request that was just made to me by this insolent boy," Snape spat, shoving forward Malcolm, who stood unfaltering. "An impertinence worthy of Potter!" He paused, noticing the others gathered at the Headmaster's desk. "What?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Very well... Perhaps we can work something out." Malcolm and Marcus grinned joyfully at each other.

The celebrations at the Leaving Feast were slightly dampened by the recent deaths of two teachers, but only slightly. Professor Trelawney was after all still technically present; she attended the feast for the first time in several years, and quickly became engaged in excited conversation with the Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick. And Professor Figg's place at the teachers' table was offered to the guest of honour, a merry, somewhat portly old wizard who closely resembled his elder brother Albus Dumbledore. Aberforth Dumbledore was in high spirits, having been recently released from his makeshift prison cell far below Gringotts' Bank because of the confession of Derrick Lestrange that he had placed Imperius Curses on him and forced him to perform the Unforgivable Curses.

Harry was sitting with Neville, Dean and Seamus at the Gryffindor table. He was glaring at Professor Snape, who throughout the feast had been covering his mouth on fake yawns, scratching his nose, and making an elaborate show of drinking his tea, all to prominently display the gold ring on his little finger whenever possibly, simply to annoy Harry. Fortunately Ron distracted him by stomping over in great irritation.

"Women!" he grumbled, angrily grabbing a chicken leg. He did this rather awkwardly, as his hands appeared to have switched wrists, his thumbs facing the wrong way.

"Can't live with 'em, can't reproduce without 'em," Dean said philosophically.

"I don't think that's how it goes, Dean," said Harry, noticing Hermione storm into the Great Hall and and sit with Lavender and Parvati. The girls began to talk furiously.

"Hermione did that to you?" Seamus asked, looking at Ron's misplaced hands. "What did you do?"

Ron turned red and chewed madly; in the pause they heard Hermione's strident tones hissing to the othe girls key phrases like, "completely out of line," "no respect whatsoever," "we've been objectified," and "chauvinistic males."

Neville groaned. "Ron, you're ruining it for all of us!"

"Maybe if you apologize for whatever you did..." Harry said as he drew his wand and tried to fix Ron's hands.

"Apologize?" Ron thundered, pulling away. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm not on anybody's side!" Harry protested with sigh. "Should I go talk to Hermione?"

"No Harry, you don't want to go over there," Seamus said. "Look, they're recruiting." Ginny Weasley, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and some of their friends had sat down and were also giggling and occasionally glowering darkly at the boys. "I've got two sisters, it's really best just to let this boil over," Seamus advised. "In twenty minutes they'll be batting their eyes and fluffing their hair again."

"She said I was moving too fast for her," Ron wailed, throwing up his backwards hands. "But I could have sworn she was sending me signals!"

"Seems to be a case of crossed wires," Dean said. Harry laughed, but Ron, Seamus and Neville all looked at them in bewilderment.

"Is that something to do with eclecktricity?" Ron asked.

"Girls are trouble," Dean clarified. "Hard to please and worse to understand! We're better off without them."

"Is that something I should tell your new girlfriend Sally-Anne?" Seamus teased, then paused and looked at Harry, who had sat up suddenly. "Er, sorry Harry, didn't you know Dean asked her out a couple weeks ago?"

"Is that all right with you?" Dean asked nervously.

"Yeah, of course," Harry said quickly, staring at Sally across the room. She had her blonde hair in very becoming ringlets again. She blew Dean a kiss and then waved at Harry, who waved back awkwardly and then hastily applied himself to his chips.

"Well, this isn't over, not by a long shot," Ron said darkly. "I got her once, I can do it again! Hermione will love me again."

"Again?" snickered Seamus, elbowing Dean.

"Pardon me," said a jovial voice behind Harry, "but do I have the exquisite pleasure of addressing Mr. Harry Potter?"

Harry turned and found Aberforth Dumbledore standing behind him with an ear-to-ear grin, resembling a plump but equally tall Headmaster. "Er," Harry said. "I guess so."

"How positively delightful!" cried Aberforth, shaking his hand briskly. "I am Aberforth Dumbledore, and I was just informed by Professor Snape that it was you who singlehandedly captured the Death Eater Lestrange, who later confessed to having framed me. It is therefore you I have to thank!"

Over the excited, "Did you really do that, Harry?" and "Wow! You captured Lestrange?" from his friends, Harry said loudly, "Er, no problem."

"That was no small feat," Aberforth said gravely, now becoming a better likeness of his more serious brother. "Albus speaks very highly of you and your parents, and I see that his compliments are justified." Harry grinned. At least someone was grateful for what he'd done. "If not for your audacity I would still be locked in a dark cell without so much as a Fizzing Whizzbee to amuse myself- oh, hello Albus," he said to the Headmaster, who had suddenly arrived at their table. "I'm meeting Harry Potter!"

"So you are," Albus Dumbledore said, smiling at his brother. "Aren't you coming back to the head table? The desserts have just appeared."

"Oh, certainly! Good-bye boys, and thanks again Harry!" The two brothers went back to their table. Dumbledore threw Harry a wink over his shoulder, so swift Harry thought he had imagined it.

"He was nice," Neville said.

"Not much like Professor Dumbledore though, is he?" Ron said, as he dug into a large chunk of trifle. "It's like me and Percy- completely different, even though we're brothers. I know how to have fun and he's a mad old biddy, that's the difference. Not that Professor Dumbledore's mad or a biddy- but you understand what I mean. Pass the sugarbowl, would you?" Seamus made the sugarbowl tap-dance its way across the table, but it fell over the side and spilt sugar all over the floor, inciting much hilarity at their end and making the girls throw them dirty looks for being raucous.

On the train home Harry's compartment was full of people. Ron and Hermione weren't speaking to each other, but all their other fifth-year friends were there to fill in the silences, plus the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Ginny Weasley, Niamh Giffard, Darius Diggle, Lee Jordan, and Malcolm Baddock. Malcolm had been welcomed gladly by the Gryffindors, who were highly impressed by his courage in confronting Snape directly. Not even Harry, who had long epitomized suicidal audacity, would willingly have taken on Snape for such an impossible demand.

It was rather squished but no one minded. They were all jubilant because they had once again won the House Cup for having the most house points. Dumbledore had awarded Ron, Hermione, and Harry special fifty-, twenty-five-, and one hundred-point bonuses respectively for helping to catch the Lestranges and Lucius Malfoy, though Professor McGonagall had then taken away twenty points from each of them. She had looked like she had mixed emotions about Gryffindor's win; she had had to give Harry, Ron and Hermione a strict lecture about leaving life-threatening situations to qualified authority, and felt that by rewarding them for half-fluke, half-skilled resolutions of problems, her work was being undone.

Fred and George had snuck out to Hogsmeade before the Leaving Feast and had several bags of sweets, practical jokes, and bottles of Butterbeer for the train ride home. In the middle of the festivities Ron stood up and waved for silence.

"It's great that we all got through another year alive, yeah, but a few really brave witches didn't, and they deserve to be honoured. We toasted them earlier in Dumbledore's Leaving Speech and we should toast them again now, because you can never thank someone enough for- for dying for you."

He glanced at Harry, who grinned encouragingly but with a pang of melancholy, thinking of his parents. Ron went on, "So raise your bottles high, in memory of Arabella Figg and Perdita Clemens. And," he added after a sharp look from Lavender Brown, "I suppose technically, Professor Trelawney."

They soberly lifted their Butterbeers and drank deeply. Harry was lowering his bottle when the compartment door slid open. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, wearing his customary sly smirk and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, with several other Slytherins crowded in the hallway.

"Having a party?" Malfoy drawled, distastefully kicking an empty bottle at a pile of sweet wrappers. Was it Harry's imagination, or did Malfoy look paler? "What are you celebrating, that some of you may actually have passed this year?"

"I'm willing to bet a crate of Ton-Tongue Toffees that Hermione got more O.W.L.'s than you, Malfoy," snapped George.

"Who, the Mudblood, who hasn't got anything better to do with her time than study and prowl about with a disgraceful boyfriend?" Malfoy responded. Hermione sniffed sharply and her hand jerked towards her wand, but Malfoy was fully aware that as a prefect the last thing she would do was jinx another student. He probed more maliciously. "Oh, I'd forgotten, you dumped the Weasel, didn't you? What does that tell you, Weasley? Even pureblood, you can't keep a girlfriend?"

Ron opened his mouth to snap something back at him, but Hermione put her hand on his arm and he was too distracted to think of any good insults for Malfoy. "Get out of here," was all he came up with, though he said it quite vehemently.

"You're not wanted here, Draco," Malcolm Baddock said fiercely.

Malfoy's eyes flashed at his cousin. "I'll deal with you later," he snarled. Malcolm coloured but stood firm. Malfoy moved on to Harry.

"And Scarhead," he said softly, his pale eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have a little surprise for you. McCabe! Get in here."

Darius Diggle and Niamh Giffard exchanged tense looks. Crabbe moved aside and Marcus McCabe came in. Now his hair was slicked back like Malfoy's and he was affecting a peculiar swagger. He glanced round the compartment with a cool gaze, which only faltered when it fell on Harry.

"Marcus," Harry said coldly.

"Harry- I'm really sorry but Malf-" Marcus started to speak in a rush but halted when Malfoy laid a hand on his shoulder.

"McCabe, you show a lot of potential but you still have much to learn. Never let them speak first, and never apologize. And he's Scarhead-"

At that point Harry blew up and drew his wand, and a split second later Malfoy's eyebrows were on fire. The others followed his lead and the compartment fairly exploded with screams and curses. A hex hit Harry in the face, shattering his glasses, and he knocked his head as he fell backwards.

The shrill whistle of the engine as the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross Station woke them all. Upon waking, the Slytherins all scarpered with Malfoy in the lead, feeling his scorched forehead and trying to muster an angry expression.

After fixing his glasses, Harry walked off the train with a slight headache. The train was early, but most of the other students' parents were there, though the Dursleys and Sirius had not yet arrived to take Harry home. With a sigh he hauled his trunk down to the end of the platform out of everyone's way and sat on it to wait. Ron, Ginny and the twins went to locate the Weasleys and Hermione came and sat with Harry.

"I can't wait to get my O.W.L. results in July," she said excitedly. "Oh Harry, I don't think your aunt and uncle would like houseguests like Ron and I, especially with Sirius coming to live with them too, but won't you and Sirius come visit us? I'll be at the Burrow sometime in August. Even if Ron and I are on the outs," she went on stiffly, talking over Harry's half-formulated question, "I'm still friends with the twins and Ginny, aren't I? And my parents would love to have you at our house."

She surprised him with a sudden quick peck on his cheek. "Bye, Harry," she said breathlessly, and hurried off to find her parents. Harry was suddenly and bizarrely reminded of the Mirror of Erised. What would it reflect in Hermione?

"Harry!" Neville Longbottom hurried over, leading his parents behind him.

"Good to see you, Harry James Potter!" boomed Frank Longbottom, with a jovial ear-to-ear grin, seizing Harry's hand and pumping it vigourously. "I can't thank you enough for giving me my memory back. I remember you!" he shouted at Hannah Abbott's mother, who hurried away looking puzzled.

Louisa Longbottom looked enquiringly at Harry. "Hello...?"

"Mum's not doing quite so well as Dad," Neville said nervously to Harry. "But thanks for helping out my dad."

"Darling, this is Harry Potter, don't you remember him? He came to visit us at St. Mungo's a few months ago," Frank said to her.

Louisa thought a moment and shook her head apologetically. "I'm awfully sorry..." She brightened. "But I do remember where we parked the car!"

"Let's go find it then, shall we darling?" Frank turned to Harry with an earnest face. "Mr. Potter, I am deeply in your debt. If you are ever in a jam, if there's anything you ever need, don't hesitate to owl me immediately and I'll do whatever you need. I may have spent the last decade in a hospital, but I still have a lot of influence down at the Ministry! Let's get your trunk, Neville my boy."

"Yes Dad, 'bye Harry," Neville said, grinning. Harry smiled back dejectedly, feeling a pang in his chest. Neville had both his parents back, practically intact... But Harry would never have that joy. He stared determinedly at his shoes as the Longbottoms strolled away through the barrier, laughing, completely unaware of the wrenching pain in Harry's innards.

Then from a door on the last car came Sally-Anne Perks. Her golden curls bobbed round her head as she looked round frantically.

"Hi Sally," Harry called. She turned and saw him, and smiled ravishingly.

"Harry! I'm so glad I found you at last. I've been looking all over for you!"

"Why?" said Harry, moving over so she could sit on his trunk.

Sally paused, and said, "No reason. I'm- I'm waiting for my parents to get here. I guess they're late."

"No, the train was early."

Sally looked up at the clock above the platform. "So it was! How silly of me. Er..." She trailed off, watching people go out the barrier onto Platform Nine in the Muggle world.

"I heard you're going out with Dean," Harry said.

"What? Oh yes, Dean." The platform was quickly emptying. There were only a few people left. Draco Malfoy, walking with his snooty-looking mother Narcissa, scowled at Harry before leaving through the barrier.

"What did you want to talk to me for?" Harry asked curiously. "Is there something you want?"

"As a matter of fact, yes..." said Sally, watching Seamus Finnigan, the last student on the platform, leave with his parents. Harry was so puzzled that he was completely off his guard when she whipped out her wand and growled, "Revenge."

Harry stared at her in shock, highly bothered by the wandtip two inches from his nose. She laughed quietly. "Ah, the famous Harry Potter. Not so grand now, are you? Who will save you here?"

"Sally! What are you doing?" Harry reached for his wand but she grabbed both of his wrists with a surprising strength. Then Harry saw something that made his blood run cold... her sleeve had fallen to her elbow and on the exposed pale skin of her left forearm he saw a blossom of red, slowly spreading to form a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth like a tongue: the Dark Mark.

"It's not possible," Harry said in horror. "You can't be a Death Eater!"

"The time for talk is over," Sally whispered with a smile. "Now you will die, Harry Potter."

"No!" Harry wrenched his hands from her grip and in a split second had drawn his wand.

"Avada-" she began.

Suddenly Mundungus Fletcher launched his huge frame through the door Sally had come through. He brandished not one wand but three, and he levelled all of these at Sally as he and Harry simultaneously shouted, "STUPEFY!"

Their combined four red jets of light hit Sally in the face and she fainted in Harry's arms. He hurriedly pushed her away and she slid off his trunk onto the floor.

"Careful there, Harry, that witch is worth more than a new racing broom," warned Fletch as he approached. "Good work with the Stunner! You've got a lightning fast draw, you'd dazzle the crowds at a duelling championship!" Seeing that Harry was still white and stunned, he said quickly, "Don't worry about your friend, Harry, this isn't really her. We found her Stunned and locked in the conductor's cabin."

"What?"

"Look," said Fletch. Harry looked at the impostor at his feet. Sally's hair was getting straight and dark... her fine skin was becoming a dusky tan colour... she now vaguely resembled Perdita Clemens, though darker and less dainty.

"This is Emily Clemens," Fletch said, as he used his three wands to wrap her up in ropes and chains and conjured a giant iron box on which was stencilled ANTI-APPARATION ZONE, into which he shoved Emily Clemens. "That ought to hold her. There's four hundred Galleons on her head, did you know that? We tracked her to the station and only realized just in time what her target was. She kidnapped your friend and made a Polyjuice Potion of her. Listen, would you mind turning your head for a moment?" Without waiting for an answer he dealt the prone witch a swift kick. "Scheming harpy," he muttered savagely, then brightened. "I should give these two wands back. Sirius, Arthur, I found Potter! Out here!"

From the same car burst Sirius Black, who gave a tremendous gasp when he saw Harry, as if he had been holding his breath. Arthur Weasley was next, looking dreadfully panicked. He shouted in relief upon spying Harry, and enveloped him in an unexpected hug. "Thank heavens you're all right!"

Harry grinned weakly, having only just noticed the gold ring on Mr. Weasley's little finger. He felt a twinge of jealousy, which passed when Mrs. Weasley rushed out the same door after her husband and swooped down on Harry in fits of maternal feeling. She was closely followed by the frantic group of Ron, Ginny, and the twins. Fred and George were supporting the real Sally-Anne Perks between them, from whose head one bouncing golden curl had been snipped.

"Sally! What happened to you?" Harry exclaimed at the same time as she asked, "Harry! What happened to me?"

When they had sorted themselves out and Sally's parents had been located on Platform Nine, she gave Harry a quick kiss and said with a weak laugh before departing, "This, Harry, is why a girl would have to be mad to carry on a relationship with you!"

As the Weasleys busied themselves with arresting Emily Clemens, Harry collapsed on his trunk. Ginny Weasley approached him shyly, looking anxious. "Harry, are you all right?"

Harry smiled at her and said, "I think I'll be fine, Ginny."

Then Harry and Sirius walked through the barrier to the Dursleys.


	60. Alternate Ending

READ THIS! A/N: The alternate ending picks up after the Leaving Feast, when the students are on the train home. Although it leaves more loose ends than Chapter 59, I like this one better. Incidentally, I guess this ending does kind of set up for a sequel, but I'm not sure if I'll write one. –yamwam

On the train home Harry's compartment was full of people. Ron and Hermione weren't speaking to each other, but all their other fifth-year friends were there to fill in the silence, plus the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Ginny Weasley, Niamh Giffard, Darius Diggle, Lee Jordan, and Malcolm Baddock. Malcolm had been welcomed gladly by the Gryffindors, who were highly impressed by his courage in confronting Snape directly. Not even Harry, who had long epitomized suicidal audacity, would willingly have taken on Snape for such an impossible demand.

It was rather squished but no one minded. They were all jubilant because they had once again won the House Cup for having the most house points. Dumbledore had awarded Ron, Hermione, and Harry special fifty-, twenty-five-, and one hundred-point bonuses respectively for helping to catch the Lestranges and Lucius Malfoy, though Professor McGonagall had then taken away twenty points from each of them. She had looked like she had mixed emotions about Gryffindor's win; she had had to give Harry, Ron and Hermione a harsh lecture about leaving life-threatening situations to qualified authority, and felt that by rewarding them for their half-skilled, half-fluke resolutions of crises, her work was being undone.

Fred and George had snuck out to Hogsmeade before the Leaving Feast and had bought several bags of sweets, practical jokes, and bottles of Butterbeer for the train ride home. In the middle of the festivities Niamh pushed her way through to Harry and whispered seriously, "Harry, I thought you ought to know- Draco Malfoy's in terrific distress. He's been feeling rather nauseous and miserable since this morning, when he got two secret letters."

"Secret letters? From who? What did they say?"

"I couldn't tell you exactly what they said. Malfoy's holding it in a closed-off part of his minds... One had the Headmaster's wax seal on it, but the other- the other wasn't marked at all. And I can feel that it's the second one that's making him rather upset." Niamh's face was grave. "Notes of condolence, perhaps, for his father's recent imprisonment; but they may be more like invitations. From two different parties, both very interested in finding out what Malfoy's father taught him. And I sense that Dumbledore's was quite revelatory..."

Harry gaped at her. "But how would Dumbledore know about Malfoy being- you know?"

Niamh shrugged. "Oh, I reckon Dumbledore knows more than you or I. Much more than he ever lets on, in any case. But... well, if you're wanting to have a chat with Malfoy, I suggest you follow him into the hall. You don't want to make a scene in here."

Harry wanted to ask her about her peculiar warning, but at that point Ron stood up and waved for silence.

"It's great that we all got through another year alive, yeah, but a few really brave witches didn't, and they deserve to be honoured. We toasted them earlier in Dumbledore's Leaving Speech and we should toast them again now, because you can never thank someone enough for- for dying for you."

He glanced at Harry, who grinned encouragingly but with a pang of melancholy, thinking of his parents. Ron went on, "So raise your bottles high, in memory of Arabella Figg and Perdita Clemens. And," he added after a sharp look from Lavender Brown, "I suppose technically, Professor Trelawney."

They soberly lifted their Butterbeers and drank deeply. Harry was lowering his bottle when the compartment door slid open. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, wearing his customary sly smirk and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, with several other Slytherins crowded in the hallway.

"Having a party?" Malfoy drawled, distastefully kicking an empty bottle at a pile of sweet wrappers. Was it Harry's imagination, or did Malfoy look paler? "What are you celebrating, that some of you may actually have passed this year?"

"I'm willing to bet a crate of Ton-Tongue Toffees that Hermione got more O.W.L.'s than you, Malfoy," snapped George.

"Who, the Mudblood, who hasn't got anything better to do with her time than study and prowl about with a disgraceful boyfriend?" Malfoy responded. Hermione sniffed sharply and her hand jerked towards her wand, but Malfoy was fully aware that as a prefect the last thing she would do was jinx another student. He probed more maliciously. "Oh, I'd forgotten, you dumped the Weasel, didn't you? What does that tell you, Weasley? Even pureblood, you can't keep a girlfriend?"

Ron opened his mouth to snap something back at him, but Hermione put her hand on his arm and he was too distracted to think of any good insults for Malfoy. "Get out of here," was all he came up with, though he said it quite vehemently.

"You're not wanted here, Draco," Malcolm Baddock said fiercely.

Malfoy's eyes flashed at his cousin. "I'll deal with you later," he snarled. Malcolm coloured but stood firm. Malfoy moved on to Harry.

"And Scarhead," he said softly, his pale eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have a little surprise for you. McCabe! Get in here."

Darius Diggle and Niamh Giffard exchanged tense looks. Crabbe moved aside and Marcus McCabe came in. Now his hair was slicked back like Malfoy's and he was affecting a peculiar swagger. He glanced round the compartment with a cool gaze, which only faltered when it fell on Harry.

"Marcus," Harry said coldly.

"Harry- I'm really sorry but Malf-" Marcus started to speak in a rush but halted when Malfoy laid a hand on his shoulder.

"McCabe, you show a lot of potential, but you still have much to learn. Never let them speak first, and never apologize. And he's Scarhead-"

At that point Harry lost his head, and a split second later Malfoy's eyebrows were on fire. The others followed his lead and the compartment fairly exploded with screams and curses. A hex hit Harry in the face, shattering his glasses. Through the smoke and cracked glass he saw Malfoy, now crouching alone among his fallen cronies, stumbling out as he felt the damage to his eyebrows. Recalling Niamh's strange advice, Harry gritted his teeth and picked his way through the hexed fighters to the compartment door. Ron made a muffled enquiry from a corner, where he'd been hit with a Full Body-Bind, and Harry called, "When you're finished with this lot, lock them up in their own trunks, will you? Don't worry about me, I'll be back soon!"

In the hall he found Malfoy putting out his smoldering forehead. "Malfoy, I want to talk to you," Harry said.

Malfoy glared at him. "Well, I want to chain you to a large heavy boulder and throw you over a bridge, but I haven't had the chance to do that yet, have I? Go back to your friends, Scarhead."

Harry resisted with much difficulty the impulse to hex Malfoy into a coma. Clenching his fists he said, "I know you got two letters this morning."

A shade of panic flitted momentarily across Malfoy's face. "What's it to you? My correspondence is none of your business!"

"Did Dumbledore tell you what you are?" Harry asked.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy recoiled as if struck. He stared at Harry with wide eyes. "How did- you can't have- but- You knew? My father never told me- how did you know?" He stopped spluttering and his horror was replaced by rage. "It was you! You told Dumbledore!"

"I didn't," Harry said flatly.

Malfoy gave him a hard stare, then turned suddenly and threw open the door of the compartment across the hall, startling a gang of second-years. "Get out," he barked. They stared at him in surprise.

"Malfoy," Harry began.

"Out!" Malfoy repeated, and the second-years all jumped up and hurried out into the hall. Malfoy strode into the vacated compartment and waited for Harry to follow him, then slammed and bolted the door, and glared at Harry. "If you know everything, Potter, you must know what Dumbledore wrote me."

"I don't know everything, Malfoy," Harry said in exasperation. "I guess he told you that you're not pureblood, that your family is vampire."

"That is a lie!" hissed Malfoy, his face suffused with rage. "My family is pureblood! PUREBLOOD!"

"And the other letter was from Voldemort, wasn't it?" Harry asked softly. Malfoy quivered almost imperceptibly. "What did he say to you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy stood still for a moment; then he slowly reached into his pocket and drew out the two letters. One did have a red wax phoenix seal, and the other was indeed blank, save Malfoy's name, scrawled in curling red letters. He opened the second letter and recited softly, avoiding Harry's eyes,

" 'Dear Draco Malfoy: You may think it foolhardy of me to write to you directly, but I believe I can trust you not to consign this missive to the hands of my foes. I will be perfectly frank: I wish you to take an active part in supporting my cause. I believe that you should seriously consider continuing your father's legacy in my service. True, his imprisonment makes the rewards he deserved difficult to deliver to him, but perhaps you could be the one to reap them in his stead. In you I hope to find the potential I saw unfulfilled in your father. I am deeply saddened by his present situation, which, of course, occurs rarely for my supporters. Yet he made it clear to me that you are a bright and skilled wizard, and I am certain that you feel your talents are overlooked in your current circumstance; but with me, your powers would be put to good use.

" 'At this time, when lunacy is mistaken for genius and true strength has no appropriate outlet, my enemies are at the peak of their power, which is why I require new talent in my service. I know that you, like me, desire to see magic used to its maximum by witches and wizards who are great enough to handle its raw might. Join me, Draco, and you could achieve glory and power beyond the wildest recesses of your imagination. Many of my enmities are common to you also: will you not help me to crush them?' "

He stopped and sat down, or rather, his knees gave out beneath him. Harry sat across from him, at an utter loss. "There's more, but it's basically the same," Malfoy murmured.

"What did Dumbledore say?" Harry asked.

Malfoy flinched, clearly harbouring a fearful repugnance for the Headmaster's letter; then he got himself back under control and replaced his scowl. "You read it for yourself." He thrust out the letter with the broken phoenix seal to Harry, who read silently:

'Dear Draco Malfoy: I write to you now not as your Headmaster, but as your friend. Please accept my deepest sympathies for the unprecipitate removal of your father from your household. It will be difficult for you to adjust to life without his presence, but it must be said that his arrest was not without just cause. You are undoubtedly aware that the Ministry of Magic may rule that Lucius Malfoy's actions warrant the Dementor's Kiss. I urge you not to seek vengeance against the Ministry for the sentence your father receives, however stringent it may be. I do not purport to know the workings of your heart or head, but I understand that retribution is probably at the forefront of your mind. Know only that revenge is futile, and is a waste of energy and emotion. We all must learn to accept both the glory and the blame for the choices we make. Your father is a wise man in that he made his decisions and now endures the consequences. I only hope that you, seeing his suffering, will not follow the same ruinous path. I know that you are a very able wizard, Draco, even if you have had little opportunity to prove your aptitude. But in the looming war with Lord Voldemort, we will all have a chance to show our quality.

'There is also the matter of your lineage. Throughout the conflict between purebloods and Muggle-borns, which I must add is grossly unjustifiable, you have laboured under the impression that your family was completely pureblood. It pains me to tell you that you have been deceived. Your mother is a direct descendant of the Tepes family of Transylvania, known vampires; therefore you are part-vampire.' " Malfoy's voice shook, but he continued, " 'In some circles, especially those whose entire convention is based upon the purging of non-pureblood wizards, such a heritage would be considered disgraceful. But I am personally interested in what you do, not what you are. I know from experience that it does not matter what one's circumstances are, only what one is capable of accomplishing.

'Do not mistake my motive in telling you your true heritage. I wished only to enlighten you to the shutting of some doors ahead of you, and the opening of others. Specifically, I would like you to consider a career as an Auror. I think you would be very successful at this demanding but constructive occupation. I make no attempt to sway your opinion, delude you with barren promises of glory or power, or coerce you into assisting me. I only ask that you think hard about the choices laid before you before making your decision. You do not want to make the wrong one. Albus Dumbledore.'

"Which letter are you going to answer?" Harry asked.

"Why should I tell you?" Malfoy said, suddenly angry.

"If you didn't want to tell me what you chose, then why did you bring me into this compartment?" Harry retorted.

Malfoy frowned, then said very quietly, "I suppose because you're the only one around who's met both of them. Perhaps I wanted to ask your opinion before I made my choice."

"I'm with Dumbledore," Harry said coldly. "My opinion, if you want it, is that there is no choice."

"That's because you're not considering the magnitude of the Dark Lord's offer of employ!" Malfoy leaned forward. "Do you remember when we travelled on this very train in our first year, and I extended my hand to you in friendship? And aren't there times, Potter, when you regret rejecting it? We could have had a powerful partnership."

"Voldemort said something like that to me once," Harry said. "But I've never regretted saying no to him, or to you. Does this mean you're definitely on Voldemort's side?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Malfoy demanded. "Dumbledore thinks this- this obvious lie about me being part-vampire will convince me to join him and study to become one of his ludicrous Aurors. The only part of the letter he got right was when he said I was a capable wizard but haven't had a chance to prove what I can do. He's mad if he thinks he can dupe me into becoming one of his pawns- like you!" He paused, then suddenly smiled very disconcertingly. "But, Potter, I'm willing to give you another chance."

"Meaning what?" Harry said guardedly.

"Meaning, I think we should have another try at cooperation." Malfoy spoke the words with difficulty, and Harry received them with disbelief. "Think about what we could have accomplished together, while we were wasting our time with childish hostilities and stupid pranks. We're easily the most powerful wizards at Hogwarts- why not act like it?"

Harry blanched. "You're mad!"

"Come on, Potter! Who do you think could better utilize your powers- Dumbledore or the Dark Lord?"

Harry stared at him. "If you're trying to convince me to join Voldemort, you're fighting a losing battle. I can't join him, I'm supposed to-"

Then it hit him. Yes- he was supposed to destroy Voldemort, before the Dark wizard destroyed him! And what better way to get within killing range of the Dark Lord than by becoming one of his servants? Harry's mind was racing. Malfoy had just said he wanted to have another go at cooperation. Couldn't Harry pretend to have buried the hatchet, and request to join the Voldemort-supporting movement along with his new "friend"?

It occurred to him that this was all absolute rubbish. Lord Voldemort would never buy it, and obviously by presenting himself directly to the Dark Lord, Harry would essentially be committing suicide. But people changed, didn't they? He could pretend to be power-hungry like Malfoy. If Dumbledore could believe someone like Draco Malfoy, who had every motive to join the Death Eaters straightaway and start murdering Ministry officials to avenge his father, would even consider becoming an Auror, it was perhaps possible that Voldemort would accept Harry's change of heart. Wasn't there the slimmest, most minuscule possibility that Harry's spur-of-the-moment plot could succeed? Granted, the Death Eaters would probably shoot him upon sight. That question remained: how to get past them?

I hope you've read the real OotP because this whole part has been a spoiler. Also, although I forgot to state Trelawney's actual prophecy when I copied the part about the whole Harry-has-to-kill-Voldemort thing, I am going to refer to it now. I'm really sorry.

It struck him suddenly that Lord Voldemort did in fact have to be the one to kill Harry. What had the prophecy said? Sorry again. That one must die at the hand of the other? Which meant, perhaps, that neither could be destroyed by anyone else. Harry had never had anything to fear from the Death Eaters, nor would Voldemort have to even try to defend himself against even the mighty Albus Dumbledore. No wonder no one had ever succeeded in destroying either of them- it was out of those would-be assassins' hands. Their two fates were bound by some macabre cosmic influence which only they could break.

Malfoy was looking at him expectantly. "Supposed to-?"

Harry knew his plan was ludicrous, and had less chance of even partially succeeding than Dudley Dursley had of winning the Order of Merlin, Third Class; still, it was better than spending the rest of his life waiting patiently at number four Privet Drive, hoping that Voldemort would one day happen to wander by the living room window unarmed.

Besides, without knowing whether or not Voldemort could in fact be killed, Harry could not expect to be offered any other opportunity to get close to the Dark Lord, and was, statistically speaking, already a dead man.

So he set a convincingly conniving smile on his face and said, "Supposed to be on Dumbledore's side, of course. You know, since Voldemort killed my parents."

"Yeah," said Malfoy, trying to smile back but clearly nonplussed.

"But maybe he was right to do it," Harry said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "Maybe Voldemort knew what he was doing. Maybe my parents were standing in the way of- of progress." Come on Harry, he thought desperately, you can't stammer now! If you're going to infiltrate the Death Eaters and destroy Voldemort you'll have to be a better liar than this!

Malfoy looked astonished. Harry pressed on determinedly, the lies pouring from his mouth like slugs had once slimed out of Ron's. "After all, if they weren't powerful enough to defend themselves against him, how good at magic could they have been? And when the smoke cleared, who came out on top? Not my parents- not even Voldemort- but me! I guess I was the strongest of us all."

Malfoy's eyes were wide with shock. Harry had no way of guessing it, but he had just spoken aloud the disturbing sentiments that had lurked within Malfoy for ages and ages. "You can't really believe that, Potter?"

"I do," Harry lied.

"But then why have we been archenemies for the past five years?" demanded Malfoy.

"Think about it, Malfoy! As things stand now, I'm the hero of the entire world, and you're easily the most despised student in the school." These at least were not lies, but Harry, modest by nature, still had trouble spitting them out. "Would I be where I am now, if five years ago I had joined Slytherin and become friends with you? Would you even be talking to me now if I hadn't played a part in convicting your father?" Malfoy twitched but continued to listen. "I did what I had to do to keep up my... reputation. Do you understand?"

Malfoy nodded slowly, though he still looked dubious. "I suppose I wouldn't have acted differently if our roles were reversed." He smiled broodingly. "But I would have had trouble tolerating that bungler Weasley and that insufferable Granger."

Harry smiled so tightly his cheeks ached, and went on, "And I was thinking, as you read your letter from Voldemort- why shouldn't I join his side? I mean, if you're going to do it. Why shouldn't I get some of that power?"

"Oh come on! You, Harry Potter, really want to join the Dark Lord?" Malfoy demanded, sounding skeptical. "I mean, isn't it a little odd- more than odd- outlandish, you suddenly blurting out all these things about how awful your parents were and how you want power? Are you trying to con me, Potter?"

This was it, Harry knew suddenly: this was the moment that would decide the fate of his flimsy plan. From Niamh's circuitous warnings he had gotten the impression that Draco Malfoy, however stupid or uninventive he may be, was in a position to be instrumental to the side he chose in this war. It was evident that he was leaning towards Voldemort's side; but if Harry said the wrong thing now, Malfoy would run off to the Death Eaters without him and his window of opportunity would slam shut. He chose his words carefully, setting his voice in a scornful, mildly hurt tone: "'Course I'm not trying to con you, Malfoy! Is it so hard to believe that there's someone else like you, who knows what he wants and has the means to get it?"

He'd been improvising, but he could see the last bit about means had been the right thing to say. Now Malfoy regarded him as an equal not only in brains and magical skill, but also in wealth; and if there was one tangible thing Malfoy held in great esteem, it was money.

"Do you think he'd accept you, though?" Malfoy asked. "I don't think anyone knows about my ancestry being- being- well, you know. I mean, if that stuff is true at all, which I doubt." Harry didn't think Malfoy did doubt it much anymore, but he only gave a wooden enquiring smile. "But virtually every wizard on the planet knows you're only a half-blood, not pureblood like You-Know-Who wants."

Harry felt a strange pain in his palms, and realized that he'd been clenching his fists so hard he'd shredded his skin with his fingernails. Holding his bleeding hands behind his back he casually let drop a small gem. "Well, maybe Dumbledore's right on that count, saying that even half-bloods can achieve greatness. Voldemort's a half-blood too." He raised his eyebrows and smirked, unintentionally mimicking Malfoy's usual expression, as the Slytherin jumped. "Didn't you know?" Harry said slyly.

"Er- yeah," said Malfoy, obviously lying, but also seeming pleased to have been let in on a secret. He dropped his voice confidentially. "If you're serious about this then, the last bit before the Dark Lord's signature says that he'd appreciate it if I could suggest some reliable friends as well."

Harry allowed some of his deep contempt for Malfoy to creep into his voice. "Friends? Us?"

Malfoy's guard fell back into place and he sneered somewhat as he said, "I'm just telling you what the letter said. We don't have to be friends."

Studying Malfoy, Harry began to feel sorry for him. All Draco Malfoy's swagger and pomp was only a cover for his loneliness. He had no friends, only subordinates. Not only that, but he probably had little real esteem for his skills, which would explain why he had approached Harry with the offer of alliance in the first place: Voldemort would not turn Malfoy down if he brought along a prize like Harry.

Harry reflected that it was also likely that the Dark Lord would be friendless, a position Malfoy would identify with, and another reason that Malfoy so venerated Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin, and other Dark wizards who had also been pariahs of their eras. Harry would have to treat Malfoy prudently, if he didn't want to start Malfoy down his own bleak path to evil dominance. After all, even if Harry did somehow manage to topple Lord Voldemort, he didn't want to have to contend with a Dark successor.

"Well, I suppose if we are both serious about going through with this all the way to the end, we'll have to have a pact of some sort," he said. Seeing Malfoy still look hesitant, Harry swallowed his revulsion and anger and extended his hand. "All right?" Malfoy stared at him for one precarious moment, during which Harry held his breath in trepidation; then with a sudden broad smile Malfoy took his hand and shook it briefly. "We're in this together, then," he said.

"But no one can ever know," Harry warned. "No one except you and I and Voldemort. We have to keep acting like normal. I'll keep sucking up to Dumbledore, and I think it wouldn't hurt if you did it too. To- to make him think his letter won you over, while you secretly contact Voldemort and arrange everything with him."

"Yeah, we'll be double agents!" Malfoy said, beginning to look excited. Harry pasted a sneering smile on his face. Double agents indeed; they would go through the exact same motions, yes, but for opposite sides.

Suddenly two loud thumps from above their heads made them jump. "What was that?" Harry said.

Malfoy pushed open the window and stuck his head out. "It's a witch and wizard! Looks like... that Auror Mundungus Fletcher, and... that Death Eater who escaped a few days ago, Emily Clemens!" They heard a shrill scream, followed by a startled holler. "They're duelling on the roof!"

"Let me see," Harry demanded, worried about Fletch. Malfoy pulled his head in and Harry took his place. The wind whipped his hair about his head and nearly made off with his glasses, but through the din he could hear their shouting.

"You won't catch me, Fletch! I escaped from Gringotts' and slipped right through your nine fingers," taunted Emily. "You can't protect Potter forever- Crucio!"

"Impedimenta! I will get you, Emily, you traitorous wretch!" shouted Fletch. "How could you deceive Perdita and I for so long? Expelliarmus!"

"Missed me again, Fletch! It was easy to fool you two, you were so disgustingly lovesick that you were completely oblivious to everything happening around you! Stupef-"

"Expecto Patronum!" Fletch roared, and Harry heard Emily shriek. Then Fletch grunted in surprise and called angrily, "Wandless magic? Have you no honour?"

"You won't need your wand when you're dead!" cried Emily, then yelped, and another thud fairly shook the whole car; Harry guessed Fletch had tackled the witch. Fletch's wand flew off the roof and Harry, with his quick Seeker reflexes, managed to grab it.

Fletch and Emily were fighting over the last wand. "Give me that-" Fletch grunted, "stop- aha! Stupefy!" There was a little scream, then silence. Then Fletch peered over the side of the car and found Harry's head sticking out the window. "Harry? Well, if you don't ask what I'm doing atop the Hogwarts Express, I won't ask why you ride the train with your head out the window. Did you happen to see a wand fall off the roof?" Harry passed it up to him and Fletch grinned. "Mad-Eye will be dead jealous when I tell him I bagged an escaped convict even without my own wand! Sirius will meet you on Platform nine and three-quarters. Have a good summer!" He moved out of Harry's sight, and then silence signified the two duellers had gone.

"He didn't catch her, did he?" Malfoy asked as Harry pulled his head back in. Harry nodded and Malfoy frowned. "We'll have to be better than her when we become Death Eaters."

"Yeah," Harry said, smoothing down his hair. "Maybe Fletch was too good. Or maybe he cheated," he said quickly, seeing Malfoy's eyebrow rise. "In any case, I've got to go before people realize we've been talking." Harry unbolted the door. "You'll find your friends locked in their trunks. And remember, I was never here." He paused. "Er... good luck, Malfoy."

"Same to you, Potter," Malfoy said, with a small, tense grin.

Harry slipped back across the hall to his compartment. All of his friends leaped up when he stepped in.

"Harry! Why'd you go off with Malfoy for so long?" Ron demanded.

Harry drew his wand. "I'm really sorry to have to do this to all of you, but... Obliviate!"

Their eyes defocused for a moment, then returned to him with vacant stares.

"What are we doing?" Katie Bell asked blankly.

Harry picked up a bottle of Butterbeer. "Toasting the memory of Professor Figg and Perdita Clemens, of course." He tipped the sweet drink down his throat and they grabbed bottles and joined him, looking confused. Harry guzzled away his guilt at having to manipulate their memories- but it would compromise his plan if anyone, even his closest friends, knew he'd been speaking with Draco Malfoy. The only person he would definitely have to talk to was Albus Dumbledore, who would certainly disapprove but would probably not try to deter Harry.

He really was in this to the end now, and totally alone. All his other exploits- retrieving the Philosopher's Stone, defeating Tom Riddle's diary-ghost, setting Sirius free, escaping a duel with a Dark wizard by the skin of his teeth, fleeing a torture chamber with a madman snapping at his heels- seemed to pale in comparison to what loomed ahead. Throughout those dangers he had always had friends by his side, in many forms. All his life people had been looking out for him, even when he hadn't known it, often causing him to feel stifled and sheltered; but now that he knew his daunting objective, he also knew that he could accept no aid. He would only be able to use and manipulate people to achieve his purposes. No one but Harry could kill Voldemort. He was on his own now.

The train pulled into King's Cross Station and Harry got off and met Sirius Black on the platform. His godfather was beaming. "All right, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"Just fine," said Harry.

" 'Bye Harry, 'bye Sirius!" Ron shouted from the other side of the platform, just before walking through the barrier.

"Have a good summer, and give me a ring!" Hermione said cheerfully to Harry as she left with her parents.

"Your uncle is waiting for us," Sirius said. "Are you ready?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Draco Malfoy getting off the train, also casting a quick look in his direction. Their eyes met and Malfoy's mouth twitched- the closest he could risk, in public, to a smile. Then Malfoy hurried away. Harry turned back to Sirius with a grin. "Ready for anything," he said.


End file.
